^w^S 


THE 


Quick  or  the  [)ead? 


A  STUDY. 


BY 


AMfiLIE    KIVES.- 


"  Wanting  is what  ?" — Jocoseria. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY. 

1889. 


Copyright,  1888,  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company. 


■ 


PKEFACE. 


The  critics  have  done  me  a  great,  though 
unconscious,  honor  in  assuming  that  I  in- 
tended Barbara  Pomfret  for  a  representation 
of  myself,  for  in  so  doing  they  have  attrib- 
uted to  me  an  absolute  honesty  and  lack  of 
vanity  (save  in  the  matter  of  physical  ap- 
pearance) such  as  few  mortals  were  ever  cred- 
ited with. 

Imagine  any  self-respecting  human  creature 
deliberately  setting  down  the  minutise  of  her 
private  woes  and  struggles,  and  recounting  in 
downright  English  her  absolutely  selfish  and 
hysterically  morbid  fluctuations  between  two 
vital  questions. 

It  is  strange  to  me  that  a  man  or  woman, 
however  obtuse,  should  deem  any  one  capable 
of  "  unlocking  her  heart  with  a  sonnet  key" 
to  so  absolute  and  unflattering  an  extent. 

iii 


iv  PREFACE. 

As  for  those  who  think  that  I  intended 
Barbara  to  l^resent  a  noble  character,  I  will 
say  singly  and  honestly  that  such  was  not 
my  intention.  I  tried  to  describe  as  truth- 
fully as  I  could  a  type  of  woman  of  whose 
existence  I  felt  convinced, — a  creature  mor- 
bid, hysterical,  sensitive,  introspective;  an 
egotist  to  her  finger-ends,  although  an  un- 
conscious one ;  a  sophist  and  a  self-deceiver. 
If  the  eyes  of  even  one  Barbara  have  been 
opened  to  the  way  in  which  she  is  treating  or 
has  treated  her  Jock,  then  my  study,  crude 
as  it  is  in  many  respects,  will  not  have  been 
made  in  vain.  I  have  had  letters  from  more 
than  one  Barbara,  and  from  many  who  have 
known  Barbaras,  having  suffered  at  their 
hands. 

My  view  of  human  passion,  when  it  is 
honest  and  lawful,  is  the  same  that  Charles 
Kingsley  takes  in  his  preface  to  "  The  Saint's 
Tragedy/'  and  in  the  tragedy  itself. 

I  will  acknowledge  with  gratitude  criticism 
which  enables  me  to  correct  errors,  to  refine 


PREFACE.  V 

my  style,  to  become  simpler,  more  terse,  more 
in  everything  what  a  writer  should  be ;  but  for 
those  who  call  me  impure  I  have  only  one 
reply  :  "  Ye  read  by  the  light  of  your  own 
spirit."  Frederick  Eobertson  has  said,  "  All 
situations  are  pure  to  the  pure ;  to  the  man 
that  feels  that  'the  king's  daughter  is  all 
glorious  within/  no  outward  situation  can 
seem  inglorious  or  impure. 

"...  We  do  not  want  a  new  world, — we 
want  new  hearts. 

"  Let  the  spirit  of  God  purify  society,  and 
to  the  pure  all  things  will  be  pure." 

The  Quick  or  the  Dead  ?  with  all  its  faults 
of  crudeness  and  bad  taste  here  and  there, 
— the  result  of  too  rapid  writing  and  publi- 
cation,— is,  after  all,  merely  an  honest  study 
of  a  sensitive  and  morbid  woman  who  feels 
that  she  is  being  disloyal  to  her  dead  husband 
in  loving  a  living  man.  When  I  think  of  the 
misconstruction  which  has  followed  its  ap- 
pearance, I  am  reminded  of  a  purported  fact 
which  was  once  mentioned  to  me.    The  state- 


vi  PREFACE. 

ment  may  be  utterly  untrue,  but  the  simile 
remains  apposite.  Some  one  told  me  that 
milk  and  rattlesnakes'  jDoison  are  identical 
in  the  quality  and  quantity  of  their  ingre- 
dients, and  that  the  only  way  in  which  scien- 
tists explain  the  harmlessness  of  the  one  and 
the  virulence  of  the  other  is  by  supposing 
some  subtle  difference  in  the  juxtaposition  of 
the  molecules  in  each  fluid.  Now,  it  seems 
to  me  that  some  critics,  when  they  shake  the 
milk  of  my  human  kindness  about  in  their 
own  minds,  disturb  its  atoms  and  force  them 
temporarily  into  a  poisonous  relativeness. 

It  was  her  husband's  ego — his  soul — that 
Barbara  loved.  If  this  had  not  been  so, 
she  would  have  married  Dering  without  ques- 
tion, since  physically  he  was  almost  the  exact 
reproduction  of  his  cousin. 

How  blessed  a  thing  it  would  be  if  people 
would  only  understand  that  while  spades  are 
spades,  still  one  need  not  always  picture  them 
as  standing  in  mud !  They  may  be  used 
more  effectually  than  any  other  tool  for  im- 


PREFACE.  vii 

proving  the  soil  about  the  roots  of  the  Tree 
of  Life,  so  that  it  will  bear  more  abundantly 
and  better  fruit. 

It  seems  to  me  that  books  well  meant, 
strongly  written,  and  from  a  clean  heart 
resemble  mirrors,  wherein  every  one  who 
reads  sees  his  own  reflection.  The  pure  will 
see  purity, — the  foul-minded,  foulness. 

AM^LIE   RIVES. 


The  Quick  or  the  Dead? 


i.         ;  .  '    ;    ' 

Theee  was  a  soughing  rain  asweep  that 
night,  with  no  wind  to  drive  it,  yet  it  ceased 
and  fell,  sighed  and  was  hushed  incessantly, 
as  by  some  changing  gale.  Barbara  was  a 
good  deal  unnerved  by  the  lanternless  drive 
from  the  station.  The  shelving  road,  seamed 
with  abrupt  gullies,  lay  through  murk  fields 
and  stony  hollows,  that  she  well  remembered ; 
in  the  glimpsing  lightning  she  saw  scurrying 
trees  against  the  suave  autumn  sky,  like  etch- 
ings on  bluish  paper ;  the  dry,  white-brown 
grasses  swirled  about  the  horses'  feet  in  that 
windless  rain ;  and  after  what  thunderous 
fashion  those  horses  pounded  stableward ! 
They  hurled  through  narrow  gate-ways  like 
stones  from  a  catapult,  rushed  past  ragged 
trees  whose  boles  seemed  leaping  to  meet  them, 


2  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

spun  over  large  stones  as  though  they  had 
been  mere  fallen  leaves. 

The  black  driver  urged  his  smoking  team, 
as  though  dissatisfied  with  their  prowess,  by 
sharp,  whistling  inward  breaths,  and  upward 
gestures  of  his  bowed  elbows.  He  was  a  gro- 
tesque iigur?  against  the  pennons  of  lightning. 
Barbara  had  smiled  in  spite  of  her  fear,  be- 
coming suddenly  grave  as  they  just  grazed  the 
corner  of  a  slanting,  half-ruined  wall,  formed 
of  rough  stones  and  clay,  the  "  Brookfield 
Barn"  of  her  childhood,  and  her  fears  were 
not  calmed  by  recalling  the  fact  that  only 
twenty  yards  ahead  stretched  a  long,  ram- 
shackle bridge,  formed  of  loose  planks  held 
in  place  by  wild  grape-vine  branches  and  a 
stone  placed  here  and  there.  This  bridge 
dipped  its  lithe  middle  almost  into  the  waters 
of  a  hurling,  brown  stream,  known  in  the 
surrounding  country  as  "  Machunk  Creek." 
There  were  various  legends  regarding  the  ori- 
gin of  this  name.  The  negroes  said  that  a 
man  had  crossed  it  at  one  time,  carrying  a 
chunk  of  "  fat"  light- wood  ;  when  on  the  mid- 
dle of  the  one  plank  which  then  served  for 
bridge,  he  had  dropped  his  pine-knot,  and 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  3 

screamed  out  desperately,  "  Oh  !  my  chunk  !" 
Thence  the  title  of  the  stream.  Barbara,  who 
had  always  unquestioningly  believed  this 
story,  could  almost  fancy  that  she  saw  this 
swart,  regretful  figure  poised  now  above  the 
hurly  of  rain-swollen  waters, — could  almost 
hear  his  despairing  cry.  She  thought  of  get- 
ting out  of  the  trap  and  following  his  example 
by  crossing  on  foot,  when  a  dull,  whirring 
rumble,  followed  by  a  certain  rock-a-bye 
motion,  told  her  that  they  were  upon  the 
bridge.  She  shut  her  eyes  with  an  infallible 
womanly  instinct,  although  it  was  then  abso- 
lutely dark,  caught  a  fold  of  her  inner  lip 
between  her  teeth,  and  pinched  the  back  of 
her  left  hand  firmly  in  the  palm  of  her  right. 
There  was  a  jolt,  a  sj3attering  scramble  from 
the  horses,  another  of  those  sharp,  unique 
sounds  from  Unc'  Joshua  the  driver,  and  off 
they  sped  once  more  into  the  ever-increasing 
gloom. 

It  was  not  until  the  next  day  that  Barbara 
found  there  had  been  lanterns,  with  candles 
ready  for  lighting,  on  each  side  of  her.  She 
had  been  finally  whirled  in  upon  the  gravel 
of  the  carriage-drive  of  Rosemary,  and  had 


4  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

dodged  the  familiar  arms  of  the  box-trees,  that 
scraped  and  rattled  against  the  sides  of  the 
flying  carriage :  then  came  orange  blurs  of 
light,  between  thick,  parted  curtains,  a  semi- 
circular glare  over  the  hall  door,  and  little 
glowing  ladders  to  right  and  left  of  it. 

Her  aunt  Fridiswig  had  rushed  to  meet 
her,  had  embraced  her,  by  leaving  a  moist 
splash  upon  her  elastic,  night-cool  cheek,  and 
some  of  a  pepper-and-salt  shawl-fringe  caught 
in  the  button  of  her  jacket.  She  had  escaped 
finally,  saying  that  she  would  like  a  cup  of 
tea  in  her  bedroom,  and  that  her  aunt  could 
come  and  bid  her  good-night,  but  was  on  no 
account  to  sit  up  past  her  usual  hour  for 
retiring. 

She  was  leaning  now  in  an  old,  chintz- 
covered  chair  in  front  of  a  chestnut-wood 
fire.  How  vividly  that  chair  recalled  other 
days!  She  smiled  a  little  drearily  as  she 
ran  her  fingers  into  a  little  slit  in  the  stuff, 
which  she  had  cut  there  herself,  three  years 
ago,  while  whittling  a  peg  for  her  easel.  She 
had  brought  no  maid  with  her,  having  looked 
forward  with  a  certain  pleasure  to  the  minis- 
trations of  the  maid  of  her  girlhood,  a  dark- 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  5 

brown  creature,  with  a  profile  like  that  of 
Rameses  II.,  and  wearing  countless  slubs  of 
black  wool  tied  up  with  bits  of  white  string. 
This  person  was  moving  about  the  room  with 
a  light,  padding  step  like  that  of  a  cat  through 
wet  grass.  She  was  holding  up  and  admiring 
her  mistress's  cast-off  furs  and  under-wraps, 
in  the  candle-light  behind  her  back,  passing 
her  hand  up  and  down  the  rich  sables  with  a 
voluptuous  ecstasy  of  appreciation  ;  now  tuck- 
ing them  beneath  her  chin  and  regarding  her 
reflection  in  the  old-fashioned,  gilt- framed 
toilet-glass,  now  burying  her  face  in  them 
with  a  shudderingly  delighted  movement  of 
her  shoulders.  Barbara  sat  listless,  her  damp 
hair  unwound  about  her  shoulders,  tapping 
the  curled  ends  lightly  against  the  palm  of 
her  hand  as  she  dreamed,  wide-eyed,  in  the 
uncertain  firelight.  The  maid,  Martha  Ellen, 
or  Rameses,  as  Barbara  called  her,  came  pres- 
ently and  began  to  warm  a  pair  of  red-heeled 
bedroom  slippers  by  holding  them  to  the  blaze, 
at  the  same  time  lifting  one  of  her  pretty,  yel- 
low-lined hands,  palm  outward,  to  protect  her 
face. 

The  gesture  went  through  Barbara  like  a 
1* 


6  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

knife.  How  Val  used  to  laugh  at  it,  when 
Martha  Ellen  went  through  the  same  per- 
formance of  warming  his  slippers  !  She  put 
up  both  hands  to  her  breast  with  a  movement 
of  anguish.  Tears  clustered  hot  and  stinging 
on  her  lashes,  and  great  breaths  that  were 
deeper  than  sobs  thrilled  through  her  from 
head  to  foot. .  Ah,  she  had  been  a  fool  doubt- 
less to  come  here,  for,  in  the  natural  course  of 
things,  she  must  expect  such  painful  occur- 
rences twenty  times  a  day  ;  and  yet  there  was 
a  sorrowful  sweetness  in  it,  too.  She  let  drop 
her  hands,  and,  relaxing  her  tense  figure,  sent 
a  slow,  miserable  look  around  the  room.  It 
was  spacious,  airy,  Southern.  A  delicate, 
dawn-like  mixture  of  rose  and  gray  charac- 
terized its  furniture.  The  large,  carved  bed, 
of  mahogany,  had  hangings  of  rose  and  white. 
There  were  white  goat-skins  here  and  there 
on  the  gray  carpet,  and  some  very  good  water- 
colors,  by  French  artists,  above  the  chimney- 
piece.  The  chairs  and  couches  were  many 
and  capacious.  The  number  of  mirrors  sug- 
gested a  certain  vanity  on  the  part  of  its  oc- 
cupant :  there  were  eight  in  all,  none  of  them 
small,  and  all  framed  heavily  in  old  gilt.     A 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  7 

mahogany  writing-table  near  one  of  the  win- 
dows had  heavy  brass  handles,  awink  in  the 
fitful  light.  Barbara  rose  suddenly,  and,  put- 
ting back  her  heavy  hair,  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  room  on  soft,  slipperless  feet. 

"  Wait,  Miss  Barb'ra,  honey,' '  urged  Barne- 
ses, approaching  her  mistress  on  her  knees 
and  holding  out  the  now  very-warm  slippers. 
"  You'll  war  out  dem  pretty  stockin's." 

Barbara  stopped  and  stared  down  at  her 
absently,  then  turned  gently  away  and  re- 
began  her  long,  noiseless  stride. 

"You  can  go,"  she  said.  "Never  mind 
the  slippers.     I'll  call  you  presently." 

As  Barneses  left  the  room,  Barbara  locked 
the  door  through  which  she  had  passed,  and 
then,  turning,  with  her  hand  still  on  the  key, 
took  another  long,  scrutinizing  survey  of  the 
room. 

Presently  she  went  to  one  of  the  windows 
and  drew  aside  the  curtain.  The  skirt  of  the 
sky  was  strewn  from  hem  to  hem  with  little, 
flittering,  filmy  clouds,  through  which  a  wet 
moon  shone  vaporous ;  the  tulip-trees,  nearly 
stripped  of  their  golden,  October  leaves,  thrust 
their  empty  seed-cups  out  and  up,  like  so  many 


8  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

elfin  goblets,  to  be  filled  with  weird  mist- wine ; 
the  wind  blew  in  puffs,  like  a  thing  breathing 
in  its  sleep,  and  the  rain  had  ceased.  Bar- 
bara's hair  made  a  mellow  glow  in  the  wan 
light,  and  the  already  scarlet  holly-berries 
blinked  back  at  her  from  the  frothy  gloom 
of  the  shadow- waves.  A  horse  neighed  im- 
patiently just  below,  and  was  answered  from 
a  far  meadow.  She  could  see  the  light  from 
her  windows  streaking  the  faded  grass  on  the 
lawn.  With  a  sigh  she  let  the  curtain  drape 
itself  once  more  in  its  accustomed  folds,  pausing 
to  rest  both  hands  on  the  mahogany  writing- 
table,  and  again  devouring  the  room  with  that 
slow,  absorbing  gaze.  As  her  returning  eyes 
fell  upon  the  table  on  which  she  leaned,  she 
gave  a  strange  cry,  and  pressed  backward 
among  the  window-curtains,  still  keeping  a 
fixed,  horrified  look  on  the  table.  How 
bathos  will  intrude  upon  pathos !  It  is  the 
flippant  Tweedledum  of  a  most  serious  Twee- 
dledee.  The  possible  viper  from  which  poor 
Barbara  shrank  was  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  a  half-smoked  cigar,  which  lay  in  a 
neat  little  ash-tray  among  its  ashes,  just  as 
the  man  who  had  been  smoking  it  had  placed  it 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  9 

there  three  years  ago.  Suddenly  she  fell  on 
her  knees  beside  the  table,  and,  snatching  up 
the  bit  of  tobacco,  kissed  it  again  and  again. 
She  was  a  woman  with  an  almost  terrible 
sense  of  humor,  and  presently  she  began  to 
laugh,  not  hysterically,  but  quietly,  appre- 
ciatively. She  saw  how  ridiculous  a  thing 
that  act  of  hers  would  seem  to  an  on-looker. 
And  then  again  she  kissed  it,  and,  catching 
her  face  into  her  two  hands,  went  into  a 
shuddering  passion  of  sobs,  tearless,  noiseless, 
and  terrible. 

All  this  will  not  seem  overstrained  when 
one  knows  its  origin. 

In  tliis  room,  among  these  identical  articles, 
just  three  years  ago,  Barbara  Pomfret  had 
passed  the  first  three  months  of  an  absolutely 
joyous  married  life ;  two  years  ago  her  hus- 
band had  died,  and  she  had  come  back  an 
utterly  unhappy  woman  to  the  scene  of  her 
former  happiness.  Every  chair,  book,  knick- 
knack,  rug,  in  this  room,  was  associated  in 
some  way  with  her  husband.  The  very  pic- 
tures,  the  toilet-glass,  the  ornaments  on  the 
mantel-shelf,  all  held  for  her  some  memory 
which  stabbed  her  as  she  looked ;  and  yet  it 


10  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

was  of  her  own  will  that  she  had  returned. 
She  did  not  wish  to  forget,  and  she  could  not 
better  remember  than  in  a  place  so  fraught 
with  memories.  She  had  not,  however,  cal- 
culated the  full  poignancy  of  the  grief  that 
was  about  to  claim  her.  As  vanished  scenes 
swept  across  her  inner  sight,  there  came  with 
them  words  and  looks  and  tones  innumerable. 
His  arms  held  her,  his  breath  warmed  her, 
his  voice  was  in  her  ear,  vibrating,  actual. 
She  leaped  to  her  feet,  stumbling  over  her 
heavy  gown;  her  fascinated,  dreading  eyes 
sought  the  vague  gloom  behind  her,  as  she 
hurried  to  the  door.  The  room  was  full  of 
his  voice,  of  his  sighing,  of  his  laughter.  She 
breathed  gaspingly,  and  caught  at  the  key  to 
unlock  the  door.  It  was  stiff  with  long  dis- 
usage,  and  refused  to  turn.  There  again  !  his 
laughter,  about  her,  above  her,  and  his  lips  at 
her  ear.  She  could  hear  the  words,  loving, 
reckless,  impassioned  words,  not  meet  for  a 
ghost  to  utter:  "Barbara!  Barbara!  your 
curled  lips  are  a  cup,  and  your  breath  is 
wine.     You  make  me  drunk  ! — drunk  !" 

She  grasped  the  key  with  both  hands,  pant- 
ing, sobbing,  her  eyes  strained  with  a  mighty, 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  \\ 

overwhelming  panic.  Still  the  senseless  bit 
of  brass  resisted.  She  caught  up  a  fold  of  her 
gown  and  wound  it  about  the  handle.  Now 
his  very  lips  were  on  her:  they  drew  her 
breath,  her  life. 

"  O  God,  help  me !  O  God,  let  the  door 
open  !  let  it  open  !" 

Miss  Fridiswig,  alone  with  her  knitting,  in 
the  dining-room  just  below,  heard  a  sudden 
noise  as  of  falling,  and  burst  out  into  the  hall, 
to  meet  Barneses  with  her  eyes  goggling. 
They  made  a  simultaneous  rush  up  the  stair- 
way, and  nearly  fell  over  Barbara,  who  was 
lying  on  her  face,  half  in  and  half  out  of  her 
room. 

Barneses,  who  was  as  strong  as  most  men 
of  her  size,  lifted  the  poor  girl  bodily,  and 
laid  her  upon  the  bed. 

They  did  all  the  disagreeable,  useless  things 
that  people  generally  do  to  a  fainting  woman, 
and  by  and  by,  when  it  was  time  for  her  to 
return  to  consciousness,  she  opened  her  dark 
eyes,  and  drew  several  short,  difficult  breaths. 

"  I  know, — I  know, — "  she  said. 

"  You  know  what  ?"  coaxed  Miss  Fridiswig. 

"I  know, — I  know, — "  repeated  Barbara, 


12  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

— "I  know — where  I  am.  Must  get — a — 
new  lock — to-morrow.  Rameses — sleep — in 
here— to-night.     What's  o'clock  ?" 

"Mos'  twelve,"  said  Rameses,  who  was 
holding  Barbara's  bare  feet  in  her  hands. 
"  You  go  tuh  bade,  Miss  Fridis.  Miss  Bar- 
b'ra,  you  go  tuh  bade  too." 

"  Yes,  darling,  you  must, — for  my  sake," 
urged  Miss  Fridiswig. 

"  Not  yet ;  not  yet,"  said  Barbara. 

She  tried  to  sit  up,  and  fell  back  among  the 
big  pillows.  A  sudden  shivering  shook  her 
throughout.  She  made  another  effort,  and 
got  her  arm  about  Rameses'  neck. 

"  Help  me — "  she  j)anted,  "  help  me — off 
the  bed — quick.     That  sofa  there " 

When  they  had  made  her  comfortable  on 
the  sofa,  she  closed  her  eyes  and  lay  so  still 
that  they  thought  she  had  fainted  again ;  but 
as  Rameses  moved  to  fetch  some  of  the  nox- 
ious remedies,  she  pressed  down  a  fair  hand 
on  the  girl's  wool,  signifying  that  she  was  to 
remain  beside  her. 

"You  go  tuh  bade,  Miss  Fridis,"  said 
Rameses.  "  'Tain't  no  use  two  on  us  sittin' 
up." 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  13 

"No,  not  a  bit,"  said  Barbara.  "Please 
go,  Aunt  Friclis." 

"  Ah,  let  me  be  of  use !  let  me  be  of  use !" 
wailed  Miss  Fridiswig,  casting  herself  on  her 
knees  beside  Barneses,  and  leaving  another 
warm  splash  on  Barbara's  inert  hand. 

Barbara,  who  never  willingly  hurt  the  feel- 
ings even  of  a  cabman,  did  not  know  what  to 
do,  until  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  to  faint 
again.  When  she  came  to  herself  from  this 
simulated  swoon,  Barneses  had  packed  Miss 
Fridiswig,  willy-nilly,  to  her  virgin  slumbers, 
and  was  resuscitating  the  dead  fire  by  breath- 
ing on  it,  after  the  Biblical  method. 

Barbara  lay  watching  her,  stung  again  by 
an  almost  intolerable  pang.  How  often  had 
she  lain  on  that  very  sofa  and  watched  Val 
trying  to  imitate  the  negro  method  of  kindling 
a  fire,  until  his  puffed-out  cheeks  made  him 
into  a  very  excellent  likeness  of  a  wind-god 
couch  ant ! 

When  the  wreathing,  lilac  flames  began  to 
whirr  about  the  fresh  logs,  she  called  the  girl 
to  her. 

"  Are  you  very  sleepy  ?"  she  said,  smiling, 
a  beautiful  smile  that  Martha  Ellen  remem- 

2 


14  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

bered.  It  was  associated  with  countless  gifts, 
and  seemed  to  breathe  of  the  summer,  a  sea- 
son endeared  above  all  others  to  the  sensitive 
little  black. 

"  Lor' !  Yuh  looks  jes'  like  yuh  use  tuh !" 
she  exclaimed,  regardless  of  Barbara's  ques- 
tion. "  I  thought  yuh  done  give  up  smilin' 
when  I  seed  yuh  fust  tuh-niglit." 

"Did  you?"  said  Barbara.  She  smiled 
again,  and  yielded  her  hand  graciously  to  the 
girl's  caresses,  repeating  her  question.  Mar- 
tha Ellen  asserted  that  she  didn't  feel  sleep 
"  nowhar  near  'bout  her." 

"  But  it  must  be  very  late  ?"  Barbara  said. 
"  Are  all  the  other  servants  in  bed  ?" 

Martha  Ellen  thought  so,  and  slipped  a 
lithe  arm  about  her  mistress,  who  stood  still 
for  an  instant,  while  the  apparent  seething  of 
the  articles  about  her  subsided.  She  was  tall, 
and  her  figure  in  its  silverish  dressing-gown 
of  white  silk  gleamed  like  a  streak  of  moon- 
light in  the  rich  dusk.  I  once  saw  a  stem 
of  white  wild-flowers  lean  against  a  charred 
pine  as  she  was  now  leaning  against  her  dark- 
skinned  waiting-woman. 

Presently  she  moved  a  step  or  two.     The 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  15 

girl  moved  with  her,  bending  beneath  the 
bare  white  arm  that  rested  heavily  across  her 
shoulders.  As  they  paused  again,  she  turned 
her  face  up,  with  a  sideward,  expectant  move- 
ment. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  Barbara  began,  "  that 
if  you  know  where  the  little  brass  bed  is, — 
the  one  I  used  to  sleep  in  as  a  little  girl, — I 
would  help  you  to  get  it." 

"  Naw,  you  ain't ;  you  ain'  gwine  he'p  me 
git  nuthin',"  said  Martha  Ellen,  positively. 

Her  mistress  was  as  positive.  "  It  is  en- 
tirely too  heavy  for  you  to  lift  alone,"  she 
said.  "  If  you  know  where  it  is,  I  am  coming 
with  you  to  help  you." 

They  went  together  down  a  narrow  corridor 
that  turned  abruptly  several  times,  Martha 
Ellen  in  front  with  a  candle  that  died  out  to 
a  blue  splutter  in  the  many  draughts. 

Following  this  elfish  light,  Barbara  found 
herself  at  last  in  the  nursery  of  her  childhood. 
She  looked  upward  and  remembered  the  very 
cracks  in  the  plaster  ceiling :  there  was  the 
identical  one  that  she  had  thought  resembled 
the  profile  of  George  Washington  on  the 
postage-stamps.      Underneath   it    stood    the 


16  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

brass  cot.  It  was  somewhat  tarnished,  and 
the  bows  of  pale-blue  ribbon  that  enlivened 
its  head-piece  were  decidedly  draggled.  She 
untied  them  mechanically  and  rolled  them 
around  her  fingers,  while  Martha  Ellen  took 
off  the  unsheeted  mattresses.  How  long  it 
was  since  she  had  slept  in  that  gay  little 
bed !  There  is  nothing  that  makes  us  seem  so 
unreal,  so  unfamiliar  to  ourselves,  as  some 
pleasant  child-possession  seen  unexpectedly  in 
unhappy  womanhood. 

She  kneeled  long  beside  it  that  night,  with 
palms  pressed  hard  against  her  eyes,  forgetting 
to  pray,  in  a  great,  struggling  effort  to  imagine 
herself  once  more  a  child,  pleading  for  her 
pony's  tail  to  "  grow  as  long  as  before  the 
calf  chewed  it,"  for  "  Mammy  to  be  white  in 
heaven,"  for  "Satan  to  be  forgiven  after  a 
long,  long,  long  time,"  for  herself  to  be  made 
a  "  good  little  girl  and  not  so  cross  with 
Agnes." 

At  first  she  was  not  conscious  of  any  es- 
pecial emotion,  as  she  bent  against  the  cold 
linen  of  the  turned-back  bedclothes ;  she  had 
no  particular  sensation  either  of  happiness  or 
unhappiness;  but  presently   vast   waves   of 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  17 

passionate  regret,  and  longing,  and  rebellion, 
surged  over  her,  each  one,  as  it  swelled  and 
formed,  more  vast  and  annihilating  than  the 
other.  The  undertow  seemed  dragging  her 
down,  down.  God's  imagined  face  took  on 
a  horrible  grinning.  The  ministering  angels 
seemed  deformed  creatures  who  writhed,  and 
twisted,  and  uttered  wanton  gigglings  as  they 
circled  about  the  Throne  after  the  fashion  of 
the  witches  in  "  Macbeth"  about  the  caldron. 
Nothing  seemed  good ;  nothing  seemed  kind. 
She  could  not  even  think  of  her  husband  as 
having  existed.  He  was  a  mere  mass  of  re- 
pulsive formlessness  in  a  slimy  wedge  of  earth ; 
perhaps  he  was  not  even  that.  She  imagined 
his  ghastly  skeleton  tricked  out  in  all  the 
mockery  of  fashionable  attire.  What  de- 
lightful, smart,  of-the-world-worldly  coats  he 
had  worn !  Why,  if  he  were  a  skeleton  now, 
one  could  see  his  tailor's  name  in  gilt  letters 
through  his  spinal  column  !  Ha !  ha !  ha  ! 
Ha!  ha!  ha!  She  had  laughed  silently  at 
first,  then  in  a  choking  whisper,  then  in  a 
ringing  peal  of  sound  that  clashed  through 
the  silent  house,  chilling  the  blood  in  Martha 

Ellen's  rigid,  black  body. 
2* 


18  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  go  to  her  mis- 
tress. She  sat  up  on  the  pallet  where  she  was 
sleeping  for  the  night,  folded  herself  in  her 
own  embrace,  and  muttered  between  her  clack- 
ing teeth, — 

"  Miss  Barb'ra  done  gone  mad !  she  done 
gone  mad !  /  dunno  what  tuh  do !  Gord 
knows  /  dunno  what  tuh  do  I"  Then  all  as 
suddenly  the  laughter  ceased. 

There  seemed  to  Barbara  to  be  some  glow- 
ing, resplendent  presence  about  her,  lifting  up 
her  heart  as  it  were  with  both  hands.  She 
took  down  her  palms  from  her  strained  eyes, 
and  stared  into  the  almost  absolute  gloom. 
She  even  reached  out  her  arms  into  it.  The 
darkness  seemed  to  cling  about  her.  Little, 
every-day  noises  distracted  her  attention, — 
the  snap  of  the  dying  fire  as  it  settled  among 
its  ashes,  the  lull  and  sough  of  an  awakening 
wind  through  the  branches  of  the  tulip-trees, 
the  noise  that  a  mouse  made  dragging  some 
little  thing  along  the  floor.  She  rose  stiffly  to 
her  feet,  and  cowered  shivering  down  among 
the  icy  sheets.  Again  she  held  out  her  arms. 
The  pressure  of  a  warm,  curly  head  against 
her  breast  was  with  her  as  an  actuality. 


THE  QUICK  OB  THE  DEAD?  19 

"Oh,  Val,"  she  whispered,—"  oh,  Val !  Oh, 
darling, — mine  ! — mine  ! — mine  !  Touch  me, 
come  to  me,  here  in  the  darkness, — here  where 
you  used  to  love  me.  I  will  not  be  afraid, — 
no,  not  the  least,  not  the  least.  Oh  !  God — 
God !  he  does  not  hear  me  !  he  cannot  hear 
me !  he  does  not  care  any  more.'' 

She  flung  herself  half  out  of  her  childhood's 
bed  upon  the  large  one  of  carved  mahogany 
near  which  it  stood,  sobbing,  shuddering,  kiss- 
ing wildly  the  silken  coverlet  and  pillows  that 
rose  softly  through  the  thick  firelight,  so 
finally  slept,  worn  out,  desolate,  chilled  to  the 
very  core  of  soul  and  body. 

II. 

Rosemary  was  one  of  those  old  Virginia 
houses  which  have  not  been  desecrated  with 
modern  furniture,  as  gray  hair  with  hair-dye. 
Its  rooms  were  gloomy  in  contour  and  atmos- 
phere, but  cheered  by  bright  hangings  and 
flowers,  like  an  old  face  with  smiles.  The 
house  of  deep-red  brick  showed  in  sanguine 
streaks  through  tangled  vines,  something  after 
the  fashion  in  which  a  Nereid's  face  might 
blush  behind  her  veil  of  verdant  hair.    There 


20  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

were  many  old  portraits  in  the  large  hall,  as 
darkly  ruddy  in  color  as  the  outer  walls  of 
the  mansion  which  they  adorned.  An  old 
spinet  stood  in  the  music-room,  from  which 
instrument  Miss  Fridiswig  used  to  coax 
forth  ghastly  j  hikings  (this  spinet  could  not 
utter  anything  so  liquid  as  a  jingle)  on  Sun- 
day afternoons. 

It  was  a  most  lovely  old  place  to  die  in, 
but  not,  assuredly,  one  in  which  to  live. 
There  was  a  suggestion  of  loneliness  even 
about  its  vegetable  life  which  seemed  de- 
pressing. Its  trees,  with  the  exception  of 
the  tulip-poplars  and  acacias,  were  all  mate- 
less,  not  two  of  any  kind.  Its  flowers  did 
not  grow  socially  in  beds,  but  here  and  there 
throughout  the  tangled  grass.  The  very 
stalks  of  corn  in  the  kitchen -garden  leaned 
away  from  each  other.  There  was  one  dog, 
one  cat,  one  horse,  one  vehicle  which  Miss 
Fridiswig  called  a  carry-all,  and  one  aged 
black  to  drive  it.  Barbara  preferred  walk- 
ing, to  this  means  of  locomotion,  and  was 
sometimes  out  from  early  morning  until  the 
woods  were  full  of  lean  shadows,  that  seemed 
as  hungry  as  herself. 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  21 

With  what  an  appetite  she  used  to  return 
to  Rosemary !  She  sometimes  drank  three 
cups  of  tea,  and  ate  two  partridges,  together 
with  numberless  biscuits,  for  supper.  Miss 
Fridiswig,  after  having  asserted  on  several 
occasions  that  she  would  "ruin  her  stum- 
mick,"  considered  an  unpleasant  duty  to  have 
been  performed,  and  refrained  from  further 
remark.  Miss  Fridiswig  was  amiable  and 
unobtrusive,  and,  when  she  did  not  perform 
on  the  spinet,  Barbara  liked  to  think  that  she 
was  in  the  house. 

October  in  Eden  could  not  have  been 
more  perfect  than  October  in  Virginia, — in- 
deed, far  less  so,  as  the  ever-verdant  leaves 
in  that  garden  could  never  have  fallen 
brownly  to  the  ground  and  so  rustled  al- 
most to  the  very  knees  of  a  person  walking 
through  them. 

During  these  autumnal  rambles,  Barbara 
seemed  to  leave  her  wedded  self  at  Rosemary, 
and  to  pursue  her  maiden  self  with  all  the 
sweet  if  sad  persistency  of  a  Dryad  seeking 
her  forsaken  tree. 

It  was  as  if  Happiness  lurked  somewhere  in 
the  golden-glad  depths  of  those  many-stemmed 


22  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

woods,  waiting  only  for  the  clasp  upon  her 
kissing  wings. 

A  sudden  resolve  one  day  took  possession 
of  Barbara.  It  occurred  to  her  while  putting 
on  her  gloomy  bonnet  of  heaviest  crape.  She 
tossed  it  from  her  with  a  sudden  resolve,  and 
unwound  the  severe  plaits  of  her  copper-brown 
hair,  allowing  them  to  curl  richly  into  a  float- 
ing background  for  the  clear  but  vivid  pallor 
of  her  face.  Ten  years  appeared  to  have 
fallen  from  her  with  that  burnished  coronal. 
The  airy  grace  of  girlhood  seemed  entangled 
in  her  airy  tresses.  She  then  as  hastily  put 
off  her  sombre  gown,  and,  going  to  an  old 
press,  felt  along  its  shelves  until  she  had 
brought  to  light  several  articles,  in  which  she 
began  to  dress  herself.  Her  toilet  accom- 
plished, she  looked  like  a  girl  of  sixteen  who 
had  gotten  herself  up  in  as  near  emulation 
of  some  favorite  brother  as  possible.  This 
boyish  costume  consisted  of  a  dark-blue  flan- 
nel shirt,  a  short,  clay-stained  corduroy  skirt, 
a  leather  belt,  a  pair  of  chamois-skin  shooting- 
gaiters,  and  a  pair  of  stout  laced  boots. 

She  gave  one  fleeting  glance  at  herself  in 
the  toilet-glass,  and  then,  pulling  on  a  dark- 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  23 

blue  Tarn  O'Shanter  as  she  ran,  fled  from  the 
room,  down-stairs,  out  of  door,  far  into  the 
wind-stirred  forest. 

She  sank  at  last  upon  a  fallen  tree,  and 
glanced,  panting  gayly,  at  the  beauty  sur- 
rounding her.  A  flying  squirrel  whirred 
past  her  head,  and,  alighting  on  a  bole  just 
beyond  her,  began  its  light,  scratching  ascent. 
A  ground-swell  of  wind,  as  it  were,  just  lifted 
the  overlapping  leaves  about  her  feet ;  while 
she  could  hear  the  occasional  patter  of  an 
acorn  in  the  gold-barred  silence  to  right  and 
left,  like  the  intermittent  tick  of  some  genial 
old  clock,  that  disliked  to  tell  more  constantly 
the  passing  of  such  glorious  hours. 

There  was  a  soft  blue  haze  lying  close  to 
the  forest-floor,  through  which  its  boles  and 
undergrowth  darted  blackly  upward,  like  fig- 
ures from  some  tremendous  witch-smoke,  and 
a  trail  of  Virginia  creeper  spurting  redly 
across  the  foreground  suggested  the  blood- 
spurt  from  the  victim  in  the  unholy  sacrifice. 

Barbara  rested  movelessly,  absorbing  the 
beauty  about  her  through  the  very  pores  of 
her  soul.  The  roots  of  the  fallen  tree  against 
which  she  leaned,  reaching  crookedly  towards 


24  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

a  bough  of  golden  maple  leaves  overhead,  re- 
minded her  of  the  fingers  of  a  miser  scooped 
to  clutch  his  gold.  She  laughed  with  a  sud- 
den whim. 

"  You  shall  have  it  !"  she  said,  springing 
out  and  grasping  the  bough,  which  she  shook 
back  and  forth  with  all  her  strong  young 
might.  She  was  an  enchanting  Danae  under 
the  shower  of  gold  leaves,  the  supple  lines  of 
her  strained  figure  melting  into  the  vaporous 
blue-gray  of  the  wood  beyond,  her  eyes  laugh- 
ing above  the  unusual  carmine  in  her  cheeks. 

It  seemed  a  pity  that  the  only  witness  to 
this  ravishing  scene  should  be  a  little  darky, 
with  an  embarrassing  paucity  of  breeches, 
and  a  ragged  coat  which  trained  upon  the 
ground  behind. 

He  paused,  grasping  a  young  sapling  which 
he  was  dragging  after  him,  and  gazed  up  at 
Barbara,  who,  pausing  also,  gazed  down  at 
him.  He  was  short  and  wizened,  and  had 
narrow,  blue-black  feet,  upon  which  he  stood 
gingerly,  the  yellow-lined  great  toes  curled 
heavenward.  His  oily  eyes  were  small,  his 
countenance  a  dense  bitumen  hue,  his  inner 
lips,  hanging  outward  with  astonishment,  of  a 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  25 

pale,  moist  pink,  like  that  of  a  toadstool  rained 
upon.  He  was  impish  and  uncouth  even 
for  a  little  nigger,  and  looked  like  a  crayon 
sketch  after  a  painting  of  Robin  Goodfellow. 

"  How-d'e-do  ?"  said  Barbara. 

He  replied  with  the  staccato  precision  of  a 
telegraph  machine, — 

"  I'se  fus'-rate.     How's  yo'se'f  ?" 

"  Thanks,  I  am  in  excellent  health  also," 
replied  Barbara.  "  Will  you  tell  me  where 
you  are  going  ?" 

"  Chissnuts,"  said  the  imp,  laconically. 

"  Chestnuts  I"  echoed  Barbara.  She  loosed 
the  maple  bough,  which  swung  in  stately 
nudity  to  its  accustomed  place,  and  came  for- 
ward dusting  lightly  together  her  gloved 
palms.  The  knotty  miser-roots  were  now 
full  of  the  plenteous  gold,  and  she  looked 
back  at  them  over  her  shoulder  and  smiled, 
before  addressing  the  boy,  to  whom  presently 
she  said,  in  a  pleasant  voice, — 

"Will  you  let  me  go  with  you,  Robin 
Goodfellow  ?" 

"  'Tain't  my  name,"  he  answered,  with  the 
same  brevity  which  had  heretofore  distin- 
guished his  remarks. 


26  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

"  No,  but  it  is  my  name  for  you,"  said  Bar- 
bara, gravely.  "  What  have  you  to  say  to 
that  ?" 

He  lowered  one  of  his  taut  big  toes,  and 
burrowed  with  it  in  the  soft  loam. 

"  Nothing"  he  finally  announced. 

"  Shall  I  come  with  you  ?" 

"  Ef  yuh  wants." 

"  I  do  want.     I  want  some  chestnuts." 

At  this  the  imp  grinned  cunningly. 
"  Yuh'll  have  tuh  pay  full  'em,  den,"  said  he. 

"  I'll  do  that  now,"  returned  Barbara,  tak- 
ing a  quarter  from  a  netted  purse,  which  she 
always  carried  for  this  very  purpose. 

His  little  eyes  seemed  to  dart  towards  it 
like  those  of  a  crab,  and  he  drew  a  swift 
tongue  over  both  podgy  lips,  with  the  air  of 
a  gourmet  regarding  a  well-cooked  ortolan, 
while  the  cunning  look  on  his  face  increased 
in  proportion  as  the  grin  vanished. 

"You  gimme  dat  fus',  V  den  I'll  thrash 
de  tree  full  yuh,"  he  suggested. 

"  You  thrash  the  tree  for  me  first,  and  then 
I'll  give  you  this,"  replied  Barbara,  firmly. 

"All  ri',"  he  said,  a  certain  glaze  which 
avarice   had   spread   like   a  coat  of  varnish 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  27 

over  his  black  skin  vanishing,  to  leave  it  as 
dully  grimy  as  before. 

"By  the  way,  what  is  your  name?"  Bar- 
bara asked,  as  she  walked  beside  him  on  their 
way  to  the  chestnut-tree. 

"  Mos'  anythin'." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  as  a  rule  ?" 

"Mh?"  said  the  child. 

"  What  does  your  mother  call  you  ?" 

" '  Honey'  when  she's  please',  'n'  '  you 
Satan'  when  she  ainV 

"  Hadn't  you  rather  be  called  Robin  Good- 
fellow  than  Satan  ?" 

"  I  don'  keer." 

"  If  I  give  you  this  quarter  and  another  for 
the  chestnuts,  will  you  answer  when  I  call 
you  Robin  Goodfellow  ?" 

"  Mh— mh." 

She  put  the  quarter  in  his  upreached  palm, 
and  he  transferred  it  thence  to  one  of  his 
cheeks,  the  monkey-like  pouch  where  a  young 
negro  carries  most  of  his  valuables.  It  made 
an  eerie  clinking  against  his  teeth  as  he 
talked ;  and  when  she  finally  bade  him  good- 
by  and  gave  him  the  other  quarter,  he  tucked 
it  away  in  the  opposite  cheek. 


28  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

Barbara  was  so  pleased  with  this  unique 
and  non-committal  young  imp  that  she  took 
him  shortly  into  her  service.  He  carried  her 
easel  and  color-box  when  she  sketched,  and 
occupied  the  back  seat  of  her  Canadian  fish- 
ing-wagon when  she  drove.  During  her  day- 
long rambles  he  was  nearly  always  to  be  seen 
trotting  at  her  heels,  and  he  slept  on  a  bear- 
skin rug  just  outside  of  her  door.  She  had 
at  first  attempted  to  dress  him  picturesquely, 
but  the  result  was  not  encouraging.  When 
Beauregard  Walsingham  (for  such  Barbara 
discovered  to  be  his  real  name)  first  beheld 
himself  in  his  mistress's  mirror,  thus  attired, 
he  gave  vent  to  a  choked  howl  of  dismay  and 
anger,  and  fled  to  the  linen-closet.  From 
thence  he  was  unearthed,  not  too  gently,  by 
Barneses,  who  had  no  liking  for  him,  and 
usually  spoke  of  him  as  "  that  limb,"  having 
declared  him  to  be  "  ez  ugly  ez  home-made 
sin  V  ez  black  as  the  hinges  uv  midnight." 

On  being  asked  the  cause  of  his  excite- 
ment, Beauregard  replied  that  he  "  wa'n't  no 
circus  clown,  en  folks  done  think  he  cunjud 
(conjured)  if  he  war  dem  dar  things." 

Barbara  attempted  to  reason  with  him,  but 


THE   QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  29 

it  was  useless ;  and  she  at  last  adopted  a  stern 
and  superior  pose,  and  had  the  butler  place 
him  bodily  on  the  back  seat  of  the  fishing- 
wagon.  He  sat  there,  it  is  true,  but  the  fixed 
war-light  in  his  greasy  eyes  was  ominous. 

His  duty  on  these  occasions  was  to  open 
the  many  gates  which  distinguish  Albemarle 
neighborhoods.  The  first  one  on  this  after- 
noon gave  almost  directly  upon  the  brawlings 
of  Machunk  Creek,  and  after  Barbara  had 
driven  through,  and  was  waiting  for  him  to 
resume  his  place  behind  her,  he  turned 
abruptly,  and,  with  respectful  but  dogged 
determination,  waded  out  into  the  middle  of 
the  stream,  cast  himself  upon  his  scarlet- 
sashed  little  stomach,  and  rolled.  A  muddy 
unity  of  tone  was  the  result.  Barbara  looked 
ahead  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  until  he 
began  to  climb  into  the  cart;  she  then  in- 
formed him  that  he  was  to  follow  on  foot  the 
rest  of  the  way,  and  she  made  the  occasion 
live  forever  in  his  memory  by  driving  eight 
miles.  It  probably  kept  him  from  taking 
cold,  but  it  also  subdued  his  dauntless  spirit, 
because,  although  he  made  no  signs  of  giving 
in,  when  Barneses  girded  his  loins  next  day 


30  THE   QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

with  another  as  brilliant  sash,  he  wore  it 
meekly  until  Barbara  herself  removed  it  be- 
fore he  went  to  bed. 

Having  conquered,  she,  woman-like,  be- 
stowed upon  him  that  for  which  he  had 
fought, — namely,  an  ordinary  costume,  com- 
posed of  dark-brown  cloth  and  silver  buttons. 
So  closely  did  this  attire  fit,  and  so  perfectly 
did  it  match  young  Walsingham's  complex- 
ion, that  at  a  little  distance  he  looked  like  a 
bronze  nudity  picked  out  with  silver. 

He  was  a  strange,  subtle  little  creature,  of 
few  words  and  secretive  habits.  He  had  a 
melancholy  instrument  upon  which  he  used 
to  play  "Home,  Sweet  Home."  Barneses 
called  it  a  "mouth-harp/'  and  it  used  to  set 
all  the  dogs  howling, — for  Barbara  had  bought 
two  greyhound  pups,  which  she  was  training. 

Between  the  spinet  and  the  mouth-harp, 
Barbara  was  sometimes  very  miserable;  but 
she  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  separate 
Beauregard  from  the  one  object  of  his  affec- 
tion, which  actually  slept  in  his  dusky  bosom 
every  night. 

Her  girlhood's  costume,  once  adopted,  was 
worn  as  a  constancy,  the  walks  which  she 


THE   QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  31 

took  being  of  too  wild  and  secluded  a  nature 
to  subject  her  to  remark  from  any  of  tlie 
neighbors.  She  resembled  the  heroine  of  a 
witch-tale,  figuring  all  the  week  as  a  bright- 
eyed,  wild-haired  brownie,  and  becoming  on 
the  Sabbath  a  sad,  unspeaking  woman,  with 
demure  dark  lids  over  eyes  yet  more  demure 
and  dark. 

During  those  vagrant  autumn  days  she 
became  mistress  of  a  rare  art,  that  of  con- 
trolling her  thoughts.  She  found  that  by  a 
tremendous  effort  she  could  whistle  them  to 
fist  and  keep  them  hooded  there,  so  that,  al- 
though they  fretted  and  shook  their  bells,  they 
did  not  soar  away  into  the  open  and  bring 
down  unsavory  winged  things  which  she 
would  rather  remained  a-wing.  Those  first, 
horrible  imaginings  haunted  her  no  more. 
Her  husband  was  with  her  now  as  the  glad- 
eyed  lover  of  her  young  wifehood.  She  re- 
membered his  rollicking  laughter,  recalled 
the  movements  of  his  eyes,  walked  often  with 
the  very  warmness  of  his  arm  about  her  body. 
She  would  not  allow  herself  to  think  of  the 
coming  snow,  and  her  life  seemed  a  support- 
able waiting,  a  not  altogether  sad  wandering 


32  THE   QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

after  something  which  at  length  she  would 
discover. 

She  returned  one  evening  far  into  the 
orange-belted  radiance  of  the  heavy  twi- 
light. There  were  boughs  of  glowing  leaves 
about  her  shoulders,  which  framed  her  face 
as  though  in  reality  she  were  a  Dryad,  look- 
ing through  the  screen  of  her  guarding  foliage, 
and  she  held  the  greyhounds  in  a  light  leash, 
singing,  as  she  walked,  parts  of  a  song  that 
her  husband  had  especially  liked  : 

"  Bravo !  Bravo !  Punchinello ! 
Bravo,  Pun-chi-ne-ell-o !" 

She  had  not  a  strong  voice,  but  it  was  clear 
and  carried  well,  and  was  pleasant  to  drowsy 
ears, — a  twilight  and  firelight  voice, — one 
in  which  to  sing  elf-songs,  and  ghostly  ditties, 
or  some  such  lay  as  this  story  of  Punchinello. 
As  she  came  up  the  long,  narrow  lawn, 
overbent  by  tall  acacias,  she  could  see  the 
wavering  glare  of  a  large  fire  in  the  drawing- 
room.  How  often  she  and  Valentine  had 
hailed  that  leaping,  twisting  light  on  their 
home-coming  after  just  such  walks !  She 
ceased  suddenly  to  sing,  and  dropped  on  her 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  33 

knees  in  the  rank  grass,  while  the  greyhounds 
leaped  awkwardly  upon  her,  having  no  in- 
stinct to  tell  them  when  women  kneel  for 
prayer  and  when  for  play.  She  had  been 
thrilled  with  a  possessing  sense  of  his  near- 
ness :  he  was  about  her,  close  against  her  with 
the  other  impalpable  essences  of  this  still, 
gold-gray  evening.  The  light  in  the  draw- 
ing-room died  down,  almost  went  out,  then 
leaped  higher  than  ever :  some  one  had 
thrown  on  more  wood.  Kneeling  there  on  the 
windy  lawn  had  chilled  and  dispirited  her. 
She  rose  to  her  feet,  still  grasping  the  gay 
leaf-masses,  and  entered  the  house. 

With  her  hand  on  the  drawing-room  door, 
she  paused.  It  seemed  as  though  an  actual 
force  was  urging  her  away ;  and  yet  there 
was  no  one  there.  She  turned  and  looked 
first  over  one  shoulder,  then  over  the  other, 
with  a  bird-swift  gesture.  No  one.  The  pup- 
pies left  outside  were  whining  and  scratching 
for  admittance.  She  hesitated,  thinking  for  a 
moment  that  she  would  let  them  in,  but  some 
strange  feeling  withheld  her.  Then  tossing 
wide  the  door  with  an  impetuous  movement, 
she  went  rushingly  into  the  very  middle  of 


34  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

the  room,  where  she  regretted  her  impulsive- 
ness, for  she  saw  that  a  man  was  standing 
before  the  fire.  He  was  bending  slightly 
towards  the  blaze  and  scooping  his  hands  to 
it, — a  very  ordinary  gesture,  but  one  that  hurt 
her.  A  man  may  be  individual  even  in  his 
method  of  warming  his  hands,  and  this  was 
her  husband's  gesture. 

During  the  moment  in  which  this  knowl- 
edge pierced  her  heart,  the  man  saw  her,  and 
came  forward.  She  began  to  think  that  she 
was  in  a  dream, — the  figure,  the  step,  the  pose, 
were  so  identically  her  husband's ;  but  the 
greatest  shock  of  all  was  when  he  spoke. 

"You  must  be  Barbara,"  was  what  he 
said,  and  the  voice  was  Val's  voice.  The 
room  swung  about,  and  the  fire  leaped  forward 
to  meet  her.  She  put  out  her  hand,  letting 
fall  the  red  leaves  which  she  still  held.  The 
man  who  had  spoken  with  her  husband's 
voice  now  supported  her  to  a  chair  with  the 
very  trick  of  arm  that  he  had  been  wont  to 
use.  She  shut  her  eyes,  fearing  absolutely  to 
look  up,  and  put  out  both  hands,  as  though  to 
push  him  from  her,  while  he  kneeled  to  place 
a  footstool  under  her  feet,  and  then  rose  and 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  35 

slipped  a  cushion  between  her  head  and  the 
stiff  chair-back.  During  these  different  move- 
ments he  uttered  various  disjointed  sentences : 
"  So  sorry  !  Ought  to  have  waited.  Ought 
to  have  rung  for  lights.  Firelight  confused 
you.  By  the  way,  I'm  Jock, — Val's  cousin, 
you  know.  He  told  me  so  much — I — I  mean 
I've  heard  so  much  about  you, — feel  as  if  I 
knew  you,  you  know.  Are  you  all  right  now  ? 
Do  look  at  me:  it'll  steady  you.  There's — 
there's  a  strong  likeness." 

"  I  had  rather  rest  a  little, — thank  you  so 
much,"  said  Barbara.  The  firelight  through 
her  hot  lids  made  them  seem  like  live  coals 
resting  upon  her  eyes,  while  her  mind  and 
body  seemed  to  sweep  in  circles  like  a  bird  at 
poise.  He  had  unconsciously  named  the  very 
thing  that  she  dreaded.  Were  this  "  strong 
likeness"  of  feature  as  marked  as  every  other, 
she  thought  that  endurance  would  be  impos- 
sible. She  ventured  to  lift  her  eyes  to  the 
hand  resting  on  her  chair-arm  :  it  might  have 
been  thrust  from  the  grave.  She  gave  a  sob- 
bing cry  and  started  to  her  feet.  Dering  rose 
also,  startled  and  alarmed.  "  You  are  ill," 
he  said.     "  Shall  I  call  your  maid  ?" 


36  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  I  will  call  her,"  said  Barbara ;  "  I  will 
call  her."  She  flew  past  him  to  the  door, 
passed  through  it,  and  was  gone. 

Dering's  sensations  were  not  enviable.  He 
walked  to  the  fire  and  began  to  warm  his 
hands  again. 

"I  flatter  myself  that  I  know  something 
about  men,"  he  said,  rather  grumpily,  "  but 
I'm  hanged  if  I  know  anything  about  women." 
He  then  nestled  down  with  a  boyish  move- 
ment of  entire  content  into  the  chair  that 
Barbara  had  abandoned,  and  waited  for  fur- 
ther developments. 

Nothing  occurred  until  half  an  hour  later, 
when  Barbara  herself  re-entered  the  room. 
He  scarcely  knew  her  at  first,  in  her  long 
black  crape  gown,  with  her  diadem  of  lus- 
trous braids  replaced,  and  he  wondered,  as  he 
took  the  hand  which  she  now  held  out,  if  she 
were  ever  going  to  lift  her  lids. 

"  She's  handsome,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  but 
she's  too  blonde  and  too  big.  Her  waist's  too 
big — no,  it's  her  shoulders — no,  she's  all  too 
big.  Her  hair's  too  red — no,  there's  too  much 
of  it — no,  it's  the  way  she  wears  it." 

Barbara,  who  was  very  apt  at  such  things, 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  37 

did  not  rightly  fathom  his  thoughts  on  this 
occasion.  She  believed  that  he  was  ponder- 
ing on  her  pallor  and  red  lids,  and  wondering 
if  she  had  been  enough  in  love  with  his  cousin 
to  justify  such  a  quantity  of  crape.  If  ac- 
knowledged beauties  could  know  the  thoughts 
of  most  men  when  first  introduced  to  them, 
there  would  not  be  so  much  vanity  in  the 
world. 

Barbara,  who  was  an  acknowledged  beauty, 
did  not  strike  any  responsive  chord  in  Der- 
ing  until  she  turned  him  her  profile  in  set- 
tling the  folds  of  her  dress.  It  was  vigorous, 
classic,  enthralling,  and  he  admitted  as  much 
to  himself  while  regarding  it. 

"  Good  brow,"  he  meditated ;  "  good  nose ; 
good  line  of  lips, — well  balanced,  upper  and 
lower  equal ;  good  chin,  splendid  chin,  mas- 
sive, but  not  heavy.  Lots  of  will-power, — 
no  end  to  it." 

"  Won't  you  sit  down  ?"  said  Barbara.  She 
did  not  look  at  him,  and  held  a  hand-screen 
between  the  flames  and  her  face,  so  that  he 
could  no  longer  see  it. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Dering,  resuming  his  nest- 
ling position. 

4 


38  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

Suddenly  Barbara  laughed. 

"  You  remind  me  of  a  dog  turning  around 
before  he  lies  down,"  she  said,  in  explanation. 

"  Lots  of  people  have  said  that,"  he  replied, 
easily,  laughing  also. 

Barbara  winced  a  little,  and  the  light  died 
from  her  eyes.  She  had  heard  a  great  deal 
of  Jock  Dering,  and  was  prepared  to  like 
him  most  heartily,  but  if  he  continued  to 
speak  to  her  in  her  husband's  very  voice, 
how  was  she  to  bear  it  ?  They  talked  a  little 
in  a  desultory  way,  and  presently  a  half- 
burned  log  fell  crashing  down  upon  the 
hearth.  As  Dering  stooped  to  replace  it, 
Barbara  involuntarily  lifted  her  eyes  to  his 
face.  He  was  startled  by  the  soft  huddling 
against  him  of  her  unconscious  body. 

III. 

The  extraordinary  likeness  which  John 
Dering  bore  to  his  dead  cousin  Valentine 
Pomfret  was  one  of  those  rare  but  not  ficti- 
tious freaks  in  which  heredity  sometimes  in- 
dulges. Twin  brothers  are  often  less  alike 
than  had  been  those  two  young  men,  and  the 
fact  that  Dering  was  Pomfret's  junior  by  a  few 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  39 

years  was  overcome  by  the  further  fact  that 
for  a  few  years  poor  Pomfret  had  been  dead ; 
Barbara  therefore  beheld  in  the  Dering  of  to- 
day the  exact  reproduction  of  her  husband 
of  three  years  ago.  Voice,  gesture,  figure, 
and  face  were  all  identical.  There  was  the 
same  curling  brown  hair  above  a  square, 
strongly-modelled  forehead;  eyes  the  color 
of  autumn  pools  in  sunlight ;  the  determined 
yet  delicate  jut  of  the  nose  ;  the  pleasing  un- 
evenness  in  the  crowded  white  teeth,  and  the 
fine  jaw  which  had  that  curve  from  ear  to  tip 
like  the  prow  of  a  cutter.  An  unusual  face, 
one  in  which  every  new  acquaintance  would 
not  be  apt  to  recall  hints  of  some  friend  or 
relative. 

In  manner  he  was  delightful, — abrupt, 
frank,  original,  and  a  trifle  egotistical :  in  a 
word,  Valentine  Pomfret  over  again. 

Barbara,  who  had  not  of  course  distin- 
guished these  further  similarities  between  the 
quick  and  the  dead,  was  sufficiently  overcome 
by  the  physical  likeness.  Its  memory  swept 
over  her,  now  with  a  species  of  horror,  now 
with  a  sort  of  joy.  She  was  in  turns  flooded 
with  rapture  at  having  seen  again  her  hus- 


40  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

band's  face,  and  torn  with  an  impotent  rage 
that  any  human  creature  should  dare  to  move 
and  have  his  being  in  so  exact  a  similitude  of 
that  dear  body.  She  experienced  the  feeling, 
intensified  a  hundred  times,  which  rends  a 
mother  in  seeing  some  careless  friend  or  sister 
flaunting  the  garments  of  her  dead  child. 
Now  she  yearned  for  another  sight  of  the 
dear  face ;  now  she  flung  the  idea  from  her 
as  utterly  unnatural  and  abhorrent.  She 
snatched  Val's  miniature,  warm  with  her 
bosom,  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  then 
opened  the  thin  gold  case,  and  hungrily  fed 
upon  its  every  tint  and  contour.  When  she 
finally  dropped  it  back  beneath  her  gown, 
the  case,  having  grown  cold  in  the  air,  star- 
tled her  flesh,  as  a  certain  fact  had  startled 
her  mind  while  gazing  upon  the  portrait 
within.  His  pictured  face  was  not  so  much 
like  him  as  was  the  face  of  his  cousin,  John 
Dering !  She  was  in  her  bedroom,  and  alone, 
so  did  not  forbear  to  cry  out,  and  moan,  and 
talk  to  herself  in  panting  fragments,  as  she 
swept  about  the  room,  taking  first  a  vibrating 
stride  or  two,  then  leaning  against  some  piece 
of  furniture  and  pressing  away  the  hair  from 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  41 

her  face  with  both  hands ;  then  crouching  and 
trembling  with  hidden  eyes,  or  rushing  from 
wall  to  wall  with  all  the  restrained,  breathless 
eagerness  of  some  prisoned,  pantherish  crea- 
ture whose  efforts  for  freedom  had  long  been 
vain. 

As  she  flung  herself  exhausted  into  an 
arm-chair  near  the  fire,  the  wide  sleeve  of 
her  dressing-gown  fell  back,  revealing  the 
smooth  flesh  of  her  arm,  stained  violet  here 
and  there  by  the  rich  veins. 

She  bent,  uttering  a  sharp,  inarticulate  cry, 
and  caressed  it  with  slow  movements  of  her 
cheek.  She  remembered  how  he  had  loved 
to  kiss  her  delicate,  inner  arm  when  dressed 
in  this  very  gown,  and  even  as  she  smiled  for 
the  dear  memory  there  came  upon  her,  with 
a  surge  of  rebellion  and  revolt,  the  knowledge 
that  he  was  now  above  such  fleshly  pleasures ; 
that  he  would  not  now  care  for  any  of  the 
sweet,  warm,  trivial  things  for  which  he  had 
once  cared  so  passionately.  She  leaped  up, 
lifting  her  hands  high  above  her  head  and 
pressing  them  agonizedly  together.  She  tried 
to  realize  that  he  was  a  spirit,  a  purified  es- 
sence, a  soul  merely;  and  as  the  idea  took 

4* 


42  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

shape  within  her,  she  shrank  from  and  loathed 
it,  then  fell  into  bitter  human  weeping,  some- 
times pleading  for  death,  sometimes  asking 
that  God  would  work  only  His  will  with  her. 

Dering,  who  was  happily  ignorant  of  the 
effect  which  his  appearance  had  produced, 
called  again  the  next  afternoon,  to  inquire 
for  her  health,  but  was  told  that  she  had 
gone  to  walk.  He  remained  for  some  time, 
hoping  that  she  would  return,  but  took  his 
leave  after  an  hour,  wondering  somewhat  that 
a  woman  who  fainted  so  easily  should  trust 
herself  alone  on  such  long  walks.  The  next 
time  he  saw  her  was  in  the  heart  of  an  oak- 
plantation  called  the  "  Tarleton  Woods."  He 
had  plunged  recklessly  into  its  unknown  vis- 
tas after  a  covey  of  partridges,  and  had  fan- 
cied himself  lost,  until  he  came  upon  Barbara. 

She  was  seated  high  above  him  in  the 
crotch  of  an  old  tree,  and  the  full  light  fell 
upon  her  in  splashes  through  the  leaves,  like 
an  overflow  of  some  bright  liquid.  The  grey- 
hounds were  whimpering  and  scratching  at 
the  bole  of  the  tree,  and  she  teased  them  by 
swinging  the  loop  of  their  leash  just  out  of 
reach. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  43 

Dering  spoke  when  within  a  few  yards  of 
her.  "  So  glad  you  are  all  right  I"  he  cried, 
boyishly.  "  I  called  three  times,  but  you 
were  always  out.  You  seem  possessed  of  the 
spirit  of  locomotion." 

She  looked  at  him  from  beneath  her 
loosened  hair,  and  controlled  her  voice  suc- 
cessfully in  replying.  She  said  that  she  was 
very  sorry  to  have  missed  him,  but  that  she 
was  generally  out  all  day  in  both  good  and 
bad  weather. 

"  Can't  I  call  in  the  evening,  then  ?"  asked 
Dering. 

She  could  not  think  of  any  plausible  excuse, 
and  said,  "  Yes." 

"  You  don't  say  it  very  cordially,"  he  ob- 
jected, but  in  blithe,  unoffended  tones.  "  Per- 
haps you'd  rather  I  wouldn't  come  ?  Perhaps 
people  bore  you  ?" 

Barbara  could  not  help  laughing.  This 
seemed  to  embolden  Dering,  who  advanced 
and  looked  up  at  her.  "  Do  you  know  I 
think  we'd  be  such  good  friends  ?"  he  said, 
genially. 

"  Why,  I've  scarcely  spoken  two  words  to 
you,"  replied  Barbara. 


44  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  One  feels  things  sometimes,"  said  Dering, 
not  at  all  discomfited.  "  I  was  sure  I  would 
like  you  as  soon  as  I  saw  your  profile." 

"  And  bow  about  it  now  that  you  have  seen 
my  full  face?" 

"  Oh,  I  like  it  better  and  better.  It  has  a 
generous,  sensuous  breadth  that  is  splendid." 

"Nothing  else  in  ' ous,'  I  hope?"  said 
Barbara,  dryly. 

"Nothing  you  wouldn't  like.  I  see  you 
think  me  very  free  and  easy.  People  often 
do." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  said  Barbara,  laughing 
again. 

"  "Well,  as  long  as  you  aren't  angry  I  don't 
care.     You  laugh  like  a  sport." 

"  Like  a  what  ?"  said  Barbara. 

Dering  shifted  his  position,  and  lounged 
against  the  tree-trunk. 

"Yes,  it's  slang,"  he  replied.  "I've  an 
awful  habit  of  using  slang:  I'm  afraid  I'd 
use  it  to  the  Almighty  if  I  were  suddenly 
translated." 

"  You'd  probably  have  to  be  translated  for 
him  to  understand,"  began  Barbara,  merrily, 
then  stopped  and  colored. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  45 

"  That's  a  dreadfully  bad  pun,"  she  said, 
with  humility. 

"  If  you  weren't  up  a  tree  already,  I  wouldn't 
spare  you,"  answered  Dering. 

"  That's  much  worse  than  mine." 

"  I  know  it :  I  did  it  on  purpose.  Are  you 
going  to  let  me  call  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course.  Why  do  you  doubt 
it?" 

"I  don't  know.  I'm  an  odd  fellow.  I 
fancied  you  had  taken  a  dislike  to  me." 

"  No,  I  have  not,"  asserted  Barbara,  in  a 
decided  voice. 

Then  she  grew  very  pale,  and  looked  at 
him  strangely.  "  I  will  explain  what  made 
you  believe  that  some  day,"  she  said. 

She  did  not  understand  the  violent  revul- 
sion of  feeling  which  had  come  upon  her. 
She  was  glad,  delighted,  to  be  looking  at  him. 
It  did  not  shock  her  as  she  had  dreaded. 
She  felt  light-hearted  and  gay  as  she  had  not 
hoped  to  feel  any  more.  She  was  only  afraid 
that  he  would  notice  the  absorbed,  thirsting 
stare  with  which  her  eyes  returned  again  and 
again  to  his  eyes,  and  tried  to  fix  them  on 
other  objects, — the  dance  of  the  sunlit  leaves, 


46  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

the  greyhounds,  a  cardinal-bird  that  seemed 
to  streak  the  veiled  background  with  its 
flame-like  flashings.  In  vain.  Something 
of  the  feeling  that  impels  a  wilful  drunkard 
seized  upon  her.  She  would  intoxicate  her 
bodily  self  with  this  long-denied  sight ;  she 
would  drink  him  into  the  waste  places  of  her 
soul  and  make  memory  green  again;  she 
would — here  a  sudden  shivering  overtook 
her — why  should  she  not  pretend  in  truth 
that  he  was  her  husband?  It  would  be 
known  only  to  herself;  an  empty  pleasure; 
a  mere  painting  of  delight ;  heaven  reflected 
in  a  pool.  The  shivering  became  so  violent 
that  Dering  noticed  it. 

"You  are  cold,"  he  exclaimed,  quickly. 
"  Don't  you  think  you  stay  out  too  late  in 
these  chilly  autumn  evenings  ?  You  see  the 
sun  is  almost  set." 

"  Yes,  I  must  go,"  said  Barbara. 

He  reached  up  and  swung  her  to  the  ground. 
It  was  a  light,  easy  gesture,  full  of  the  re- 
strained power  that  women  like.  To  feel  a 
strong  man  minister  to  their  fragile  wants  has 
all  the  fascination  of  watching  a  steam-ham- 
mer employed  in  the  frivolous  occupation  of 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  47 

cracking  almonds.  To  see  the  power  that 
could  crush  transformed  into  the  power  that 
befriends  is  in  both  cases  blood-stirring.  And 
then  his  strong  shoulders  beneath  her  hands 
were  so  like  Yal's  shoulders,  and  the  glint  of 
his  smile  Val's  own,  and  his  impetuous  way 
of  piloting  her  over  rough  places, — all  Val's. 
She  stopped  suddenly  and  put  up  her  hands 
to  her  throat  with  a  wild  gesture.  Dering 
pulled  up  short  also,  terribly  alarmed,  and 
fearing  that  she  was  going  to  faint  again.  He 
could  not  think  what  he  was  to  do  in  these 
lonely  woods  on  the  edge  of  dark  with  a 
swooning  woman,  and  a  slight  feeling  of  irri- 
tation stung  him. 

"  Good  Lord  I"  he  said,  grasping  her  arm  a 
little  roughly,  "  you  don't  feel  faint,  do  you  ?" 

"No,  no:  just  stifled  for  a  minute/'  an- 
swered Barbara;  but  as  they  walked  on  he 
said,  rather  dogmatically,  that  in  her  state  of 
health  it  was  little  short  of  outrageous  for  her 
to  be  so  much  alone. 

"My  state  of  health!"  cried  Barbara, 
feeling  also  irritated.  "There  was  never  a 
healthier  woman  than  I." 

"Indeed?"    said    Dering,    dryly.      "You 


48  THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEADt 

won't  deny,  perhaps,  that  there  have  been 
more  prudent  ones  ?" 

Barbara  was  silent.  She  felt  that  she  could 
not  then  explain  anything  to  him,  and 
dragged  him  forward  in  her  eagerness  to  be 
out  of  that  shadow-striped,  many-noised  wood. 
Dering's  irritation  vanished  as  he  felt  the 
violent  tremblings  which  swept  her  from  time 
to  time. 

IV. 

They  stepped  from  the  shelter  of  the  woods 
into  the  teeth  of  a  brown  gale.  The  hills  lay 
in  overlapping  wedges  of  gray-violet  against  a 
long  ribbon  of  wan  light,  the  Scotch  weather- 
glim.  The  fields  were  a  seething  reach  of 
dark-gray  weeds  and  grasses ;  the  sky  a  flap- 
ping cloak  of  gray,  blown  back  from  the 
shoulders  of  some  invisible  giantess,  and  the 
shadows  on  the  bleached  downs  her  footprints. 

The  wind  blew  in  volumes  bulging  with 
fierce  sound.  It  hurled  Barbara  and  Dering 
against  one  another,  and  tore  away  her  hat, 
next  enveloped  them  in  a  sudden  eddy  of 
whirling  sticks  and  leaves.  Dering  stooped 
his  head  and  shouted, — 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  49 

"  We  can't  go  on  in  this.  Isn't  there  some 
big  tree  we  can  get  under  ?" 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  tulip-tree  at  the  foot  of 
that  hill,"  shrieked  Barbara,  putting  her  lips 
close  to  his  ear. 

He  was  conscious  of  her  warm  breath  amid 
all  that  hurly. 

They  then  struggled  down-hill  together, 
and  at  the  bottom  were  confronted  by  a  tear- 
ing stream,  shaggy  with  foam.  He  was  hesi- 
tating what  method  to  pursue,  when  Barbara 
sprang  forward  and  leaped  deliberately,  first 
in  and  then  out  of  the  water,  which  was 
at  no  place  very  deep.  He  followed,  angry 
again. 

"  I  never  —  saw —  such  —  a  —  reckless  — 
woman !"  he  roared.  But  the  wind  blew  his 
words  backward,  and  Barbara  did  not  hear 
them.  She  ran  ahead  and  crouched  down 
finally  among  the  overhanging  roots  of  an 
enormous  tree,  and  he  came  and  seated  him- 
self beside  her.  Together  they  looked  at  the 
western  sky.  It  was  one  vast,  ragged  confu- 
sion of  cloud  and  glare.  The  naked  branches 
of  the  trees  along  the  road  knotted  and  un- 
knotted themselves  angrily,  and  through  them 


50  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

the  wind  slithered  and  hissed  like  a  winged 
serpent. 

"  You  must  be  bitterly  cold,"  said  Dering. 
"  And  your  feet  are  wet,  too." 

"  No,"  answered  Barbara.  Then  she  turned 
her  face  towards  him  with  its  up-blowing 
swirls  of  hair.  He  could  make  out  nothing 
distinctly,  beyond  the  glisten  of  her  eyes  as 
the  strange  light  caught  them. 

"  I  like  it,"  she  said.  "  It  rouses  me.  It 
stings,  but  it  wakens." 

"  That  is  why  I  like  it,"  responded  Dering, 
briefly.  "It  is  like  drinking  a  witch-brew, 
— cold  in  the  mouth,  hot  in  the  vitals.  I 
wish  we  could  be  blown  for  a  long  way  over 
those  hustling  tree-tops." 

"  Yes,  I  wish  so.  One  cannot  think  much 
in  such  an  uproar  except  such  thoughts  as  it 
suggests." 

"  You  mean  one  cannot  hark  backward," 
said  Dering. 

"  Yes.     How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  I  am  beginning  to  feel  your  thoughts  as 
they  form." 

"It  is  the  wind.  I  am  always  full  of 
electricity  in  a  wind  like  this." 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  51 

"I  feel  it.  I  can  tell  you  where  your 
hands  are  without  looking  at  you." 

"  Where  are  they  ?" 

"  One  over  the  other  against  your  breast." 

"  Why,  how  strange !" 

"You  see  I  am  different  too  in  the  wind." 

"  Yes,  you  are.  We  are  like  trees.  The 
wind  is  our  soul.  It  blows  life  into  us. 
Without  it  we  are  mere  vegetables." 

"  I  can't  think  of  you  as  a  vegetable,"  said 
Bering,  and  they  laughed  a  little.  She  drew 
nearer  him ;  he  could  feel  the  thick  stuff  of 
her  gown  press  against  him  in  the  blurred 
gloom.  The  wind  whirled  around  them,  like 
an  invisible  elf  romping. 

"  Your  voice  sounds  so  strange  and  bodi- 
less," said  Barbara.     "  I  can  just  see  you." 

"  And  I  can  just  see  you.  It  is  the  light 
of  dreams." 

"And  of  the  places  after  death.  You 
seem  like  a  ghost." 

"  You  talk  like  one,"  said  Dering.  "  You 
are  entirely  different  in  this  mood  from  what 
I  thought  you." 

"  Perhaps  you  thought  that  vividly-colored 
people  never  had  gray  thoughts  ?" 


52  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  Perhaps." 

"You  see  that  they  do,  though.  I  feel  as 
though  I  had  taken  wine.  I  want  to  talk. 
I  want  to  say  many  things  to  you.  They 
surge  up  in  my  mind  as  the  wind  does  in  the 
woods  there.     Do  you  think  me  crazy  ?" 

"  No,  but  I  feel  a  little  crazy  myself.  You 
are  like  a  big,  flute-voiced  elf-queen  sitting 
there  with  only  your  eyes  aglow.  Every- 
thing has  changed  about  you, — my  ideas  and 
all."     He  laughed  again. 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  Let  us  give  each 
other  our  red-hot  thoughts,  not  wait  for  them 
to  cool  to  cinders  in  the  breath  of  convention- 
ality and  commonplace." 

"  I  will  give  you  one  now,  then." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  like  you." 

"  You  did  not  like  me  at  first,  then  ?" 

"  No ;  I  thought  you  ordinary." 

"What  has  made  you  change  your  opin- 
ion?" 

"  Perhaps  you  are  really  an  elf-queen." 

"  Was  it  not  the  daughters  of  the  elf-king 
who  were  hollow  and  had  no  hearts  ?" 

"  That  was  because  they  were  stuffed  so  full 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  53 

of  precious   thoughts   that  some  thief  stole 
them,  and  they  gave  their  hearts  away." 

"  Women  never  give  away  their  hearts." 

"  What  then  ?" 

"They  are  torn  up,  like  the  flowers  of 
Eastern  legend,  that  men  may  find  jewels  at 
their  roots." 

"  You  are  a  strange  woman." 

"  You  are  a  strange  man." 

"  If  I  were  a  doctor  I  should  say  you  had 
a  fever." 

"  I  feel  as  though  I  had.  See  how  hot  my 
hand  is,  and  I  have  my  glove  off." 

He  took  her  bare  hand  in  his ;  their  full 
pulses  throbbed  into  one.  She  gazed  at  him 
with  sparkling  eyes ;  her  lips  curled  corner- 
wise  into  a  smile,  and  she  drew  ragged,  uneven 
breaths.  She  fancied  that  it  would  be  like 
this  if  she  had  gone  to  visit  her  husband's 
grave  in  this  ghoul-light,  and  he  had  come 
up  in  his  grave-clothes  and  sat  on  its  edge  and 
talked  to  her.  But  Bering's  hand  was  not 
the  hand  of  the  dead.  She  drew  hers  away 
suddenly,  and  started  to  her  feet,  when  a 
slanting  blast  dashed  her  down  again  beside 
him.     Putting  out  his  hand  to  draw  her  furs 


5* 


54  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

closer  about  her,  lie  let  it  rest  against  her 
throat.  She  shivered,  and  sunk  down  a  little 
from  his  touch. 

"  Barbara,"  he  said,  unsteadily,  "  you  have 
played  me  some  witch-trick.  What  is  this  I 
feel  for  you  ?  It  is  gruesome,  but  strong.  I 
feel  as  though  I  did  not  want  to  leave  you. 
I  hate  this  murky  half-glimmer,  and  yet  I 
would  be  content  to  sit  here  with  you  day  after 
day,  night  after  night,  for  a  long  time.  I 
think  my  mind  must  be  akin  to  your  mind. 
I  am  hungry  for  your  thoughts.  If  you  were 
Amina  in  the  story,  I  think  I  would  wait  for 
you  at  the  church-yard  gate  every  night  and 
not  be  afraid." 

Then  she  began  to  laugh,  wild,  clamorous 
laughter,  made  loud  or  low  as  the  wind 
swelled  or  withdrew. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  she  said,  "  that  is  what  I 
am, — Amina.  I  live  on  dead  bodies.  I  am 
only  happy  when  prying  into  a  grave. 
Church -yards  are  my  lurking-places.  I 
must  begin  to  eat  rice  with  a  bodkin." 

He  held  her  firmly,  still  with  his  hand  on 
her  throat. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said,  after  a  while,  in  a  per- 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  55 

fectly  grave  voice.  "I  seem  to  understand 
your  wild  mood  in  some  strange  way.  I 
shan't  attempt  to  reason  with  you.  Some 
day  you'll  tell  me  everything." 

"  Yes,  everything,  everything,"  she  panted, 
pressing  close  to  him.  "You  are  good  to 
understand.     It  sounds  very  crazy,  I  know." 

"  I  think  you  must  have  suffered  a  great 
deal." 

"I  have!  I  have!"  she  said,  sobbingly. 
"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  now !" 

"  You  shall  tell  me  only  when  you  wish  to. 
If  it  is  now,  I  will  listen.  But  I  can  wait  as 
long  as  you  choose.     I  am  very  patient." 

"Yes,  you  must  wait.  I  can't  talk  con- 
nectedly in  this  wind :  it  blows  all  but  the 
dregs  of  my  thoughts  into  foam." 

"  I  am  afraid,  to  be  very  prosaic,  that  you 
are  taking  cold.  But  what  are  we  to  do? 
Walking  is  impossible,  for  you  at  least,  until 
this  hurly-burly  subsides." 

"  I  notice  that  your  slang  blows  away  too," 
said  Barbara,  with  sudden  humor. 

"  Oh,  my  slang  is  a  garment,"  he  answered. 
"  Whenever  I  go  swimming  in  very  deep 
waters  I  leave  it  on  the  bank." 


56  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  How  I  love  to  swim !  It  is  one  of  the4 
few  out-of-door  tilings  I  really  care  for." 

"You  must  look  superb  with  that  dark- 
gold  head  of  yours  drenched.  I  should  like 
to  see  you  coining  down  a  shadowy  stream  in 
this  light,  laughing  that  dirling  laugh  of 
yours,  like  a  true  water-kelpie.  How  the 
folks  on  the  bank  would  screech  and  run !" 

"I  seem  to  suggest  eerie  names  to  you. 
First  I  am  an  elf-queen,  then  Amina,  then  a 
water-kelpie.  But  I  do  swim  well.  I  can 
swim  in  surf.     I  am  so  strong.     Feel." 

"  Gad  !  you  have  got  a  biceps  !"  said  Dering, 
amazedly.  "  You  are  the  most  extraordinary 
mixture  I  ever  knew.  When  you  first  came 
in  that  evening  at  Eosemary,  I  thought  you 
just  big  and  heavy :  you  didn't  give  me  an 
idea  of  strength.  Now  you  remind  me  of  a 
war-goddess:  your  piled-up  hair  is  like  a 
helmet  in  this  curious  light.  Look  here: 
some  day  we'll  go  swimming  together.  I 
know  the  weirdest  old  garden  in  Italy  ;  there's 
an  enormous  lake  in  it,  lined  with  white 
marble;  you  can  see  the  ripples  like  gold 
threads  against  the  bottom  on  a  moonlight 
night.      I  should  like  to  see  you  with  that 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  57 

water  curling  about  you.  How  splendid 
those  arms  of  yours  would  look  dripping 
from  wrist  to  shoulder !  Ugh !  what  a  great, 
golden,  uncanny  thing  you  are !" 

"You  must  swim  well  yourself:  don't 
you?  A  man  should  swim,  and  ride,  and 
wrestle,  and  fence,  as  he  breathes." 

"  I  have  always  thought  so,"  said  Dering. 

"  How  alike  we  are !" 

This  sentence  always  marks  a  distinct 
epoch  in  the  acquaintance  of  a  man  and 
woman.  The  hands  of  friendship  and  love 
are  drawn  apart  as  by  two  passing  trains,  and 
friendship  is  left  on  the  siding.  These  two 
turned  their  faces  towards  each  other  in  the 
grim  twilight,  although  they  could  now  dis- 
cern only  a  vague  massed  darkness  where 
each  was. 

"  Yes, — more  than  you  know,"  said  Dering, 
concisely. 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  is :  you  understand  me 
before  I  speak." 

"  And  you  understand  me  after  I  speak, — 
what  is  really  much  rarer." 

The  wind  was  now  dying  down.  A  fitful, 
whinnering  gust  occasionally  shook  the  dry 


58  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

limbs  above  tliem,  wailed  up  and  down  the 
road  for  a  little  space,  fleered  sullenly  to  lee- 
ward, and  was  still. 

Dering  rose  and  held  out  his  hands  to  Bar- 
bara, who  found  herself  on  her  feet  and 
almost  against  his  breast  at  the  same  time. 
She  withdrew  a  little  hurriedly,  and  the 
darkness  fell  down  between  them.  They 
then  groped  their  way  stumblingly  to  a  gate 
just  above,  and  passed  through  together. 
Anion  £  the  tall  weeds  on  the  comb  of  the 
hill,  some  stars  were  a-tremble  like  belated 
fireflies. 

"There  are  your  elfin  maids  of  honor 
coming  to  find  you,"  said  Dering.  "  I  can 
see  the  witch-fires  in  their  caps." 

"You  see  they  don't  know  there  is  a 
mortal  with  me." 

"  Perhaps  they  mean  that  this  mortal  shall 
put  on  immortality." 

"  Don't !"  said  Barbara,  shaken  by  one  of 
the  violent  trembling  fits  which  had  alarmed 
him  earlier  in  the  evening.  "  That's  in  the 
burial-service.  How  can  you  speak  lightly 
of  such  things  ?  Oh,  this  has  been  a  terrible, 
terrible  walk !" 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  59 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Dering,  gravely. 

"Don't  laugh, — don't  laugh,"  she  urged, 
grasping  his  arm  with  both  hands.  "  Oh, 
why  did  you  say  that  ?  I  can  see  it  all  now ! 
— that  horrible,  long  church,  like  a  vault 
itself,  filled  with  leering,  silly,  curious  faces, 
— that  mouthing  man  in  his  robes, — the 
coffin Oh !" 

"Barbara!  Oh,  you  poor  girl!"  said 
Dering,  with  curdling  pity.  He  put  both 
arms  about  her,  and  she  clung  to  him,  gasp- 
ing and  trembling,  in  the  desolation  of  night- 
blurred  upland. 

V. 

Deeing  came  to  Eosemary  the  next  day, 
and  the  next,  but  Barbara  was  not  to  be  seen. 
For  nearly  a  week  she  did  not  leave  her  room, 
and  when  she  came  down  at  last,  drawn  by 
the  wooing  of  the  warm  November  afternoon, 
which  had  in  it  some  of  the  after-glow  of 
summer,  like  the  warmth  left  by  young  lips 
on  those  of  the  aged,  she  found  Dering  seated 
on  the  shallow  stone  steps  of  the  old  portico, 
playing  with  the  greyhound  pups.  He  put 
them  aside  as  best  he  could,  to  greet  her,  and 
his  eyes  went  deep  into  her  eyes.     He  almost 


60  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

felt  the  moisture  of  that  diving  gaze;  and 
then  her  lids  fell,  but  his  look  remained  upon 
her ;  and  after  a  moment  or  so  he  began  to 
think  that  she  inspired  him  with  imagination, 
such  strange  fancies  stirred  him  when  in  her 
presence.  This  afternoon,  notably,  she  seemed 
to  him,  in  her  gray  gauze  gown,  like  one  of 
the  mist-wreaths  from  that  strange  evening 
on  which  he  had  last  seen  her,  blown  into  this 
golden  to-day, — a  pale  cloud,  in  shape  of  a 
woman,  which  some  far  sunset  had  kissed  in 
dying,  leaving  its  light  upon  her  hair. 

As  he  rose  to  meet  her,  he  noticed-  that 
she  shrank,  and,  man-like,  misinterpreted  the 
motion.  He  thought  it  was  the  memory  of 
their  last  walk  together  that  caused  that  in- 
voluntary withdrawing,  when  it  was  in  fact 
the  unmournful  character  of  the  gown  that 
she  wore, — an  airy  thing,  held  in  place  by  an 
old  silver  girdle,  and  meant  only  for  feminine 
eyes, — as  unwidow-like  a  garment  as  can  be 
imagined ;  suitable  perhaps  for  a  young  girl 
who  mourns  the  death  of  her  first  kiss,  but 
nothing  more  material.  Her  bright,  smooth 
flesh  glowed  through  the  smoky  folds,  like 
Pleasure  revealing  herself  through  dreams. 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  61 

Dering  felt  her  beauty  cling  to  him  from 
head  to  foot,  like  a  veil  whose  woof  was  fire 
and  whose  warp  mist.  It  thrilled  and  chilled 
him  at  the  same  time.  Pale  and  aerial  as 
was  her  dress,  it  was  like  a  breath  of  cold  air 
between  them.  He  was  reminded  of  some 
rich  tropical  flower,  blooming  behind  the 
meshes  of  the  Spanish  moss. 

All  this  passed  through  his  mind  in  a 
whiff.     His  words  were  j3rosaic  enough. 

"I  came  to  bring  you  a  book,"  he  said. 
"  I  suppose  you'll  laugh  at  me  and  call  me 
Browning-mad,  but  I  like  it  awfully.  It's 
all  scribbled  up.  I  thought  you  were  still 
ill,   you   know.     I   thought   it   might  cheer 

you." 

"  No,  I  don't  laugh  at  you.  I  like  Brown- 
ing. It  takes  courage  to  admit  it,  though : 
people  always  think  one  posing.  It  is  almost 
as  trying  to  acknowledge  Browning  as"  it  is  to 
acknowledge  the  Deity." 

"  Yes,  isn't  it  ?  I  wonder  he  acknowledges 
himself." 

They  laughed,  Barbara  with  some  nervous- 
ness. 

"Suppose  you  come   and  sit  here,"  said 

6 


62  THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD? 

Dering,  "and  let  us  look  over  it  together. 
This  air  will  be  like  wine  to  you.  I'll  get 
that  fur  rug  out  of  the  drawing-room." 

"  Wait,"  said  Barbara.  "  I  am  too  chilly 
in  this  thin  dress.  While  you  get  that  I  will 
ring  for  a  cloak." 

She  rejoined  him  with  a  dark  cloak  drop- 
ping from  her  shoulders.  With  her  Naiad- 
like attire  hidden  from  sight,  she  felt  more 
matronly  and  at  her  ease.  He  was  really  a 
boy  to  her,  just  her  age  within  a  week  or 
two.  She  had  heai;d  of  his  every  school  and 
college  escapade  from  her  husband,  and  actu- 
ally knew  the  names  of  two  of  his  salad-day 
flames.  She  smiled  at  him  in  a  distinctly 
motherly  way,  as  he  seated  himself  beside 
her  on  the  rug  with  those  nestling  move- 
ments which  always  amused  her. 

"  I  like  you  when  you  look  like  that,"  he 
said,  pleasedly.  "  You've  got  an  air  of  The 
Mother  of  Nations.  Do  you  know  you're  a 
good  bit  like  the  Milo  ?" 

"How  very  absurd!"  said  Barbara,  but 
glowed  with  the  inward  satisfaction  which 
always  possesses  flesh  and  blood  on  hearing 
itself  compared  to  marble. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  63 

^  "  Yes,  you  do.  I  used  to  think  the  Milo  a 
big,  lumpy  woman;  but  she's  the  embodiment 
of  grandeur  to  me  now." 

"I  believe  you  thought  me  a  big,  lumpy 
woman  at  first  ?" 

^  "  Not  lumpy,— only  too  big.  See  here  : 
I've  got  an  odd  trick  of  opening  books  at  ran- 
dom :  I'm  going  to  open  this  for  you  before  we 
begin  reading.     Now " 

She  was  interested,  and  leaned  her  head 
close  to  his  over  the  opening  book.  His  curls 
seemed  to  spring  against  her  hair  with  a  cer- 
tain life  of  their  own.  She  drew  back,  no- 
ticing it. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  said  Dering. 

"  Your  hair, — it  seemed  to  move." 

"  Did  it  ?  I  don't  blame  it.  Look,  this  is 
for  you  : 

"  God,  that  created  all  things,  can  renew ! 
And  then,  though  after-life  to  please  me  now 
Must  have  no  likeness  to  the  past,  what  hinders 
He  ward  from " 

"  Stop !"  said  Barbara.  She  put  her  open 
hand  on  the  page,  shutting  out  the  words,  and 
he  glanced  up  wondering,  to  see  that  she  was 


64  THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD? 

strangely  pale, — not  a  vestige  of  color  in  lip 
or  cheek.  Under  the  bright  up-springing 
of  her  strong  hair,  her  face  had  the  white- 
ness of  a  dove's  wing  against  a  flame-brown 
cloud. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  he  said,  again. 

"I  don't  like  that  sort  of  thing.  It's 
ghastly.  Please  don't  do  anything  like 
that  ever  again.  I — I  loathe  the  supernatu- 
ral. I  don't  believe  in  it,  of  course,  but  I 
loathe  it." 

"I'm  glad  you  think  me  supernatural. 
I'm  beginning  to  think  you  are.  At  least  if 
you're  not  supernatural  you're  superwomanly. 
I  never  saw  any  one  an  atom  like  you.  I 
wish  you'd  kindly  tell  me  where  I  made  a 
mis-cue  that  time  ?" 

"  Ah  !  your  slang-garment.  So  you  don't 
feel  yourself  swimming  in  deep  waters  this 
afternoon  ?" 

"  No, — only  wading.  It's  deepish,  though. 
I  will  soon  take  refuge  in  naked  English.  I 
wish  you'd  tell  me  what's  supernatural  in 
opening  a  book  at  random  ?  If  it  hits,  I  call 
it  a  coincidence.  I  don't  see  how  that  could 
possibly  have  hit,  I  must  say.     I  thought  it 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?    *         65 

decidedly  a-gley.  Was  there  any  meaning  in 
it?  There  must  have  been,  to  work  you  up 
so." 

"  Yes,  there  was,"  said  Barbara,  and  again 
the  blood  rushed  from  her  face.  Dering 
looked  at  her  rather  curiously  for  a  few 
seconds,  and  then  held  out  the  book. 
"  You  open  for  me,"  he  said. 
"I  told  you  I  disliked  the  idea,"— then, 
with  sudden  contradiction,  "  I've  done  some 
wonderful  things  in  that  way  myself." 

"  Why,  do  you  open  books  too  ?     We  are 
alike,  by  Jove !" 

"Yes,  I  open   the  Bible  sometimes;   but 
that's  an  old  Methodist  trick." 

"  Do  open  this  now.  IVe  a  reason." 
Barbara  took  the  book  from  him  into  her 
gloveless  hands,  which  were  long,  and  slen- 
derly firm,  with  perfectly-kept  nails  dashed 
here  and  there  by  little  white  flecks.  Their 
touch  lingered  on  the  mental  sense,  as  rare 
music  does  on  the  mental  ear,  being  full  of 
swift,  tingling  pulses,  warm  and  elastic  as 
some  fruit, — a  man's  touch  to  a  woman, — not 
quite  human  to  a  man.  The  hands  of  certain 
women  are  more  subtly  sweet  of  contact  than 


QQ  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

the  lips  of  others,  and  their  very  hair  seems 
to  breathe. 

She  hesitated,  opened  the  book  hastily  with 
her  face  averted,  and  thrust  rather  than  held 
it  out  to  him. 

"  Shall  I  read  what  your  finger  marks  ?" 
said  Dering. 

"Yes." 

"Just  that  one  line?" 

"Yes.  It's  probably  something  too  deep 
for  any  one  but  Truth  to  dip  up  in  her 
bucket." 

"  No,  it  isn't :  it's  Truth  herself." 

"  Let  me  see." 

They  bent  together  again,  then  drew  apart, 
but  holding  each  other  with  varying  eyes. 
The  line  ran, — 

"  I  would  love  infinitely  and  be  loved." 

He  leaned  forward  after  a  while,  pulled  a 
blade  of  grass,  and  marked  the  place  with 'it. 

"  It's  awfully  curious,"  he  then  said,  tossing 
back  on  his  folded  arms  among  the  gray  fur, 
— "most  amazingly  curious.  I've  just  been 
passing  through  a  phase  of  my  life, — which 
has  been  anything  but  an  orthodox  one,  by 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  67 

the  way, — and  last  night  I  came  to  that  con- 
clusion. I  think  I  would  rather  love  in- 
finitely, even  without  being  loved,  than  not 
love  at  all.  I'm  not  a  bit  sentimental,  I  do 
assure  you !"  he  supplemented,  hastily,  spring- 
ing erect  all  at  once.  Her  gravely  laughing 
eyes  reassured  him. 

"I  never  take  remarks  personally,"  she 
said  ;  then,  with  a  change  of  mental  position 
as  swift  as  had  been  his  physical  one,  "  Don't 
want  to  love  !"  she  cried,  leaning  to  him ; 
"  don't  wish  for  it !  I  used  to ;  I  used  to  pray 
for  it  every  night.  Oh,  it  sounds  heroic,  and 
superb,  and  godlike,  to  say  that  you  are  will- 
ing to  take  sorrow  along  with  love, — grief  in 
proportion  to  it.  You  would  not,  when  the 
time  came ! — you  would  not !  If  we  live  we 
suffer.  We  had  better  be  the  coals  of  hell 
than  the  people  they  burn.  And  yet  coals 
can't  love,  you  know.  Oh !  I  don't  know 
what  I'm  saying !"  She  got  to  her  feet  and 
ran  down  the  old  steps,  out  into  the  dappled 
twilight. 

Dering  followed  her.  "Look  here,"  he 
said :  "  you  needn't  ever  be  afraid  I'll  misun- 
derstand you.     It  would  be  absolutely  impos- 


68  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

sible, — absolutely.  Go  on  and  talk  just  as 
crazily  as  ever  you  please.  We're  all  crazy, 
— every  one  of  us, — and  the  very  craziest  of 
all  is  the  man  who  says  he  isn't." 

"  But  don't  want  to  love,"  repeated  Barbara. 
"  It  isn't  a  romantic  girl  talking  to  you.  I 
am  a  woman  of  twenty-six,  and  I  know, — I 
know  it  all.  Whenever  I  think  of  it, — when- 
ever I  lie  awake  at  night  and  think  of  the 
whole  weary  thing,  from  first  to  last,- — I  am 
so  grateful,  grateful,  grateful  that  I  never  had 
a  child.  I  used  to  long  for  one.  Now  I  am  so 
glad ! — so  glad !  I  have  gotten  up  on  bitter, 
winter  nights  in  my  thin  night-gown,  trem- 
bling all  over  with  the  cold,  to  thank  God  for 
that !     At  least  I  haven't  that  to  answer  for !" 

"  I  know  so  well  how  you  feel,"  said  John 
Dering,  gravely. 

"  Most  women  are  never,  happy  until  they 
have  a  child,  you  know,"  she  panted  on  ;  "  and 
at  first,  at  first  I  did  long  for  something  to 

remind — something  that  belonged Yes, 

yes,  I  did  want  a  child  of  my  very  own ;  but 
now  I  tell  you  I  can't  thank   God  enough 


She  paused,  expecting  some  words  of  re- 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  69 

monstrance,  and  lie  said,  in  a  voice  which 
was  as  different  as  possible  from  his  usual 
boyish  tone, — 

"If  I  were  a  woman  I  should  feel  just  as 
you  do." 

"  Oh,  how  good  you  are ! — how  you  under- 
stand !"  she  cried,  passionately,  and  reached 
him  both  her  hands.  He  took  them  in  his 
own  strong,  nervous  young  hands,  which 
moved  incessantly  even  while  holding  hers, 
and  waited  as  if  for  her  to  go  on. 

"  You  are  so  good,"  she  said,  again. 

"  Why  do  women  always  persist  in  calling 
men  good  when  they  understand  them?  I 
honestly  believe  if  Satan  were  to  let  a  woman 
see,  while  she  was  roasting,  that  he  compre- 
hended her  sufferings,  she  would  say,  '  How 
good  you  are !'  " 

"  But  you  are  good  :  no  man  who  was  not 
would  listen  so  patiently  and  not  sneer.  I 
don't  mean  that  you've  never  done  anything 
wrong " 

"  I  hope  not." 

"  Nor  ever  will  again " 

"  Heaven  forbid !" 

"  But  you  understand  me." 


70  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  One  has  to  be  a  bit  good  to  do  that,"  he 
put  in,  quickly  and  somewhat  shyly.  She 
moved  impulsively  towards  him. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  like  me !"  she  said.  "  It 
isn't  quite  so  dreadful  since  you  have  come.,, 

"  You  dear  thing !" 

"No,  it  isn't, — it  isn't.  Do  you  know  I 
can  remember  when  I  used  to  like  to  be 
alone  ?  As  a  girl  I  liked  it.  Ugh !  how  we 
change !  how  we  change  !" 

"  Yes,  we  do,"  said  Dering,  feelingly. 

"  Will  you  stay  to  tea  to-night  ?  We  can 
have  it  all  to  ourselves  in  the  drawing-room, 
before  that  big  fire.  Aunt  Fridis  always  sits 
in  the  library.  I  make  such  good  tea.  We 
can  have  the  dogs  in.  It  will  be  quite  bright 
and  cheerful,  won't  it  ?  I  think  we'd  enjoy  a 
long  talk  over  the  fire.  A  wood  fire  always 
thaws  my  thoughts.  We  could  roast  some 
chestnuts,  too." 

"  Nothing  personal  in  that,  I  trust  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Oh !  that  disgust- 
ing slang !  Never  mind :  you  can  say  any- 
thing if  you'll  stay.  But  you  will  stay,  won't 
you  ?  Are  you  fond  of  music  ?  I  play  very 
well, — really  well,  you  know.     Oh !  I  forgot 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  71 

there's  no  piano.  Well,  never  mind  :  we  can 
talk.  Every  time  we  talk  together  I  feel  I 
know  you  ten  years  better."  She  was  hurry- 
ing on  eagerly,  feverishly,  glancing  every 
now  and  then  over  one  shoulder  or  the  other 
as  at  some  haunting  presence. 

"I  tell  you  what  I'm  going  to  do,"  said 
Dering,  suddenly.  "  I'm  going  to  make  you 
come  in  the  house  this  instant,  and  then 
you're  to  go  up-stairs  and  put  on  something 
warm, — a  tea-gown,  if  you  have  one.  You 
are  shivering  all  over,  down  to  your  finger- 
ends.  And  then  you're  to  pull  up  to  that 
big  fire  you  spoke  of  and  let  me  amuse  you : 
that's  what  you're  to  do." 

"  Oh,  how  like  Val !"  she  said,  under  her 
breath ;  "  how  like  him  !" 

Dering  turned  a  little  sharply. 

"What  was  that?"  he  said.  "I  didn't 
quite  catch  it,  you  speak  so  fast." 

"  Nothing,"  she  assured  him. 

As  they  mounted  the  portico  steps  together 
he  turned  to  her.  "  It  has  just  come  to  me 
what  you  said,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  mis- 
lead yourself.  I'm  not  really  in  the  least  like 
my  cousin ;  that  is,  except  as  far  as  looks  go." 


72  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

She  caught  at  his  arm  to  steady  herself,  and 
her  tempestuous  breathing  frightened  him  a 
little. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  I'm  a  brute.  If  he 
was  Valentine  I'm  certainly  Orson."  And 
he  smiled  with  a  grim  humor. 

"  No,  no,  you're  not,"  whispered  Barbara. 
"  Only  you  have  yet  to  suffer." 

"I  don't  know  but  what  I  have,"  said 
Dering,  somewhat  gloomily.  And  then  she 
let  him  guide  her  into  the  dark  drawing- 
room  and  unfasten  her  cloak. 

VI. 

As  Barbara  was  about  to  leave  the  room, 
Dering  came  and  put  himself  in  her  way. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  would  think  me  insuffer- 
ably cheeky  if  I  were  to  ask  you  something  ?" 
he  said,  with  a  suggestion  of  embarrassment. 

"  I  should  say  that  it  depended  a  good  deal 
upon  the  something." 

"  Well,  then,  would  you  mind  putting  on  a 
white  gown  ? — that  is,  of  course,  if  you  change 
your  gown.     You  don't  mind,  do  you  ?" 

"  Mind  ?  Mind  putting  on  a  white  gown, 
or  mind  your  asking  me  to  ?" 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  73 

"  Either,— both." 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  You  are  a  clear  thing !" 

He  reached  out  his  hand  impulsively,  she 
placed  hers  in  it,  and  they  both  laughed. 
She  came  back  after  a  while,  feeling  rather 
too  big  in  her  loose  gown  of  white  China 
crape. 

"  I  feel  something  as  I  fancy  a  statue  does, 
when  it  is  suddenly  done  into  marble  after 
having  been  in  the  clay  for  a  long  while.  I 
feel  aggressively  white ;  and  there  is  so  much 
of  me  to  put  in  white." 

"  Oh,  well,  there's  a  good  deal  of  the 
Milo,"  said  Dering. 

"  Yes,  but  even  she  dispensed  with  her 
arms." 

They  laughed  again,  Barbara  afterwards 
sitting  silent  for  some  time,  and  filliping  at 
the  little  silver  bells  which  ornamented  her 
hand-screen.  They  were  both  looking  in  the 
fire,  but  Dering  could  see  her  from  the  side 
of  his  eye,  and  wondered  how  he  could  ever 
have  thought  her  too  big.  It  was  like  cavil 
ling  at  the  size  of  a  flowering  tree,  he  told 
himself.    In  reality  Barbara  would  have  been 


74  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

handsomer  had  there  been  less  of  her  and  her 
good  looks  thus  more  concentrated.  As  we 
grow  older,  we  like  our  creeds  and  slippers 
larger,  our  clubs  and  houris  smaller. 

Barbara  was  not  in  any  way  conscious  of 
Dering,  as  she  struck  at  the  fringe  of  bells: 
she  was  merely  thinking  how  sad  and  pitiful 
a  thing  it  was  that  she  would  never  again 
care  what  sort  of  garments  she  wore,  so  long 
as  they  covered  her  and  attested  that  she  was 
in  her  right  mind.  She  could  not  imagine 
taking  any  interest  in  her  attire.  When  a 
woman  neglects  her  wardrobe,  it  is  as  when  a 
man  loses  his  interest  in  his  cook.  Like  the 
proverbial  straw,  although  of  infinitesimal 
importance  in  itself,  either  fact  will  tell  which 
way  the  wind  of  destiny  is  blowing.  When 
the  wardrobe  and  the  cook  flourish,  then  for 
the  coast  of  joy  :  if  they  are  overlooked,  then 
for  the  islands  of  disillusion  or  sorrow.  A 
woman's  hair,  however,  is  the  final  test.  As 
long  as  she  curls  it  she  cannot  be  truly  said  to 
have  resigned  either  soul  or  body  to  despair. 
Let  the  accustomed  and  becoming  ringlets  be 
brushed  austerely  back  from  brow  and  tem- 
ples, then   in  truth   is  consolation  an   exile. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  75 

Barbara's  rich  love-locks  were  yet  curled 
above  her  straight  brows. 

If  you  had  asked  her,  she  would  undoubt- 
edly have  replied  that  life  to  her  was  a  burden 
to  be  borne,  cheerfully  or  resignedly  as  the 
case  might  be.  She  would  have  smiled  at 
any  suggestion  of  future  joy,  as  surely  as  she 
would  have  frowned  to  think  that  any  one 
could  deem  her  capable  of  ever  again  desiring 
earthly  felicity.  She  would  have  told  you 
that,  to  her,  existence  meant  resignation  and 
religion  a  great  patience.  Yet,  strange  as  it 
may  seem,  beneath  all  this  weight  of  gathered 
and  dried  twigs  from  the  tree  of  a  very  sor- 
rowful knowledge,  a  tiny  Hope  rustled  its  yet 
incapable  wings.  It  was  too  small  and  just- 
born  a  thing  to  be  conscious  even  of  its  own 
personality,  much  less  to  make  Barbara  ac- 
quainted with  that  fact.  She  perhaps  felt  the 
tickling  now  and  then  of  its  half-fledged 
pinions,  but  this  sensation  disturbed  rather 
than  pleased. 

Dering,  who  was  much  in  love  with  her 
already,  was  congratulating  himself  that  at 
last  he  had  found  a  woman,  young,  hand- 
some,  and  intelligent,  who  would  sincerely 


76  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

give  and  receive,  the  highest  order  of  friend- 
ship. An  old  councillor  had  once  said  to 
him,  "  Young  man,  if  you  want  a  friend  in 
a  young  woman,  choose  one  who  has  had 
some  great  sorrow."  Barbara  had  been  the 
possessor  of  this  required  item ;  she,  more- 
over, corresponded  marvellously  to  his  rather 
exalted  ideal  of  womanhood.  Among  many 
future  delights  which  he  jnctured  as  attendant 
upon  their  communion  of  soul,  that  of  the  let- 
ters which  they  would  exchange  was  predomi- 
nant. What  charming  letters  he  felt  sure  that 
she  would  write  ! — as  easy  and  unconventional 
as  the  lines  of  the  delightful  garment  which 
she  now  wore.  What  delicate  humor  would 
characterize  them !  what  a  subtle  play  of 
fancy !  what  quips  and  quirks  of  lighter 
moods !  He  could  fancy  those  long,  gracile 
fingers  moving  over  the  thin,  white  sheets 
which  she  would  send  him,  the  five  rubies 
above  her  wedding-ring  winking  impishly 
from  her  other  hand  used  to  steady  the  paper. 
He  seemed  to  follow  these  graceful  hands 
from  wrist  to  shoulder,  from  shoulder  to 
throat ;  her  bending  face,  illuminated  by  the 
white  reflection  from  the  paper,  grew  also  on 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  77 

his  sight.  She  would,  perhaps,  wear  that 
dense  yet  filmy  gown ;  in  the  privacy  of  her 
own  apartment,  she  would  have  unbound  the 
riotous  masses  of  her  copper-colored  hair; 
her  delicate  foot  in  its  web-like  stocking 
would  be  thrust  in  and  out  of  her  pretty 
bedroom  slipper  as  thoughts  and  fancies 
crowded  on  her;  she  would  doubtless  have 
tossed  other  discarded  garments  on  some 
chair  in  that  charming  room ;  the  peeps  of 
delicate  lace  from  crumpled  petticoats  would 
be  enchanting.     She  would 

"  A  penny,"  said  Barbara, — "  two, — three, 
— even  four.  Your  thoughts  were  so  tre- 
mendous that  you  were  literally  glowering." 

"  I'm  sure  I  couldn't  have  been  glowering," 
said  Dering. 

"  That  leaves  me  to  infer  that  they  were 
pleasant  thoughts." 

"  So  they  were." 

"Oh!  then  I  can  have  no  hope  of 
purchasing  them.  It  is  only  disagreeable 
thoughts  that  are  purchasable.  How  the 
wind  blows !" 

"  Yes :  it  seems  the  signal  for  it  to  wake 
when  we  are  together." 

7* 


78  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  stayed !  but  I'm  afraid 
your  walk  home  will  be  very  dreary." 

"  I  will  have  those  unsold  thoughts." 

"  Cannot  you  give  me  some,  even  if  you 
will  not  sell  them  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  I  will.  I  was  thinking  what 
congenial  friends  we  two  are  going  to  be.  I 
was  thinking  what  delightful  letters  you 
could  write.  I  dare  say  you  think  me  very 
presuming.     Do  you  ?" 

"No,"  said  Barbara.  She  let  the  hand- 
screen  fall  with  a  little  tinkle  into  her  lap, 
and  held  up  her  laced  fingers  between  the 
flames  and  her  eyes. 

"No,"  she  said  again,  seriously,  turning 
him  her  full  face.  "I  do  not  see  how  you 
could  even  say  that  (because  I'm  sure  you 
don't  think  it),  after  the  way  I've  talked  to 
you." 

"  If  I  had  any  doubts,"  replied  Dering, 
"  they  are  gone  now." 

"I  am  sure  of  it.  I  don't  feel  as  though 
we  would  ever  have  a  misunderstanding." 

"  Nor  I." 

"I  do  not  see  why  people  should  ever 
quarrel.     There   are   always   stones   in   any 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  79 

road,  but  a  skilful  driver  avoids  tlieui.  This 
very  road  of  friendship,  one  can  either  jolt 
over  it  or  be  whisked  smoothly  along, — 
counting  idiosyncrasies  as  stones,  of  course." 

"You  must  have  been  as  strange  a  child 
as  you  are  a  woman,"  said  Dering. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Barbara.  "  All  chil- 
dren are  more  or  less  strange,  only  grown 
people  don't  take  the  trouble  to  find  it 
out.  Childhood  is  rarely  ever  commonplace. 
Every  child  has  at  some  time  one  thought 
original  and  startling  enough  to  make  its 
acquaintance  a  benefit.  I  remember  once  a 
child  telling  me  that  she  thought  '  hiccoughs 
must  be  prayers  to  the  devil.'  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  such  an  extraordinary  idea  ?" 

She  had  been  hurrying  on,  partly  from 
real  interest  in  her  subject,  partly  from  a  de- 
sire to  be  saying  something. 

Dering's  absent-minded  length  of  gaze 
gave  her  a  slightly  uncomfortable  feeling. 
She  was  almost  used  now  to  his  resemblance 
to  her  husband,  and  the  dissimilarity  of 
his  spiritual  self  was  beginning  to  impress 
her. 

"  I  don't  believe  there  ever  was  a  woman 


80  THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD? 

the  least  like  you,"  he  said,  finally,  withdraw- 
ing his  look. 

"  Oh,"  returned  Barbara,  "  every  man  says 
that  to  every  woman  whom  he  particularly 
likes.  It  is  the  same  thing  as  telling  one's 
sweetheart  that  she  is  the  only  woman  who 
ever  really  roused  one's  whole  nature,  or  that 
no  man  ever  loved  quite  as  one  loves  her, — 
etc.,  etc.,  etc." 

She  rose  and  began  to  move  up  and  down 
the  room  with  the  long,  padding  gait  peculiar 
to  her. 

"  You  move  like  a  panther,"  said  Dering. 
"  I  can't  keep  my  eyes  off  you." 

"  So  I  see,"  she  answered,  laughing  some- 
what nervously,  and  made  as  though  she 
would  sink  into  a  chair. 

"  No,  don't,"  he  pleaded.  "  Do  move  about, 
I  can  feel  how  restless  you  are.  When  you 
walk  with  that  crouching,  suppressed  pace,  I 
can  almost  hear  the  jungle-grasses  crackle 
back  from  your  way.  You  do  change  so! 
Out  in  that  wind  you  were  like  a  witch  thing, 
— uncanny, — all  eyes  and  a  blowse  of  red- 
gold  hair.  Then  when  I  meet  you  sometimes 
walking,  you  are  like  a  merry  boy.   Then  you 


TEE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD?  81 

are  like  a  shadow-woman :  you  were  this  after- 
noon in  that  thinnish  gray  gown.  When  you 
speak  of  Val  you  are  like  a  beautiful,  forlorn 
Peri.  There !  you  have  changed  again, — in 
a  second !     I  never  saw  anything  like  it  I" 

She  held  out  her  clasped  hands  to  him,  as 
he  rose  and  approached  her. 

"  Please  do  not  speak  of — him,"  she  said,  in 
a  strained  undertone.  "  Please  do  not, — ever 
again." 

Dering  paused  where  he  was,  and  did  not 
come  any  nearer  her. 

"  I  promise  you/'  he  said.     "  I  will  not." 

VII. 

Barbara  had  by  this  time  become  quite 
accustomed  to  the  fact  of  Dering's  resem- 
blance to  her  husband.  True,  an  occasional 
trick  of  voice  or  gesture  would  arrest  her 
with  a  sense  of  pained  cognizance,  but  she 
was  beginning  to  connect  his  personality  also 
with  himself,  and  these  characteristic  traits, 
having  a  twofold  association,  wounded  her 
less  and  less.  They  were  together  more  fre- 
quently and  for  a  longer  time  as  the  days  fled 
backward,  and  it  became  his  regular  custom 


82  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

to  spend  the  evening  at  Rosemary.  They 
were  both  bewitched  by  that  sense  of  unworld- 
liness  which  possesses  men  and  women  of 
the  world  when  alone  together  in  the  country, 
and  it  seemed  to  them  as  though  they  could 
never  voluntarily  have  mured  themselves  in 
labyrinths  of  brick  and  stone  during  these 
late  autumn  days,  now  discovered  to  be  the 
most  desirable  of  all  the  year. 

It  was  on  a  bitterly  cold,  gray  afternoon  in 
November  that  these  two  comrades,  as  they 
nowT  called  themselves,  were  engaged  in  a 
game  of  "  graces"  in  the  large  central  hall  at 
Rosemary.  The  earlier  day  had  been  tem- 
pestuous and  clattering  with  wind-whirled 
sleet,  but  a  tawny  cloud,  that  in  streaming 
wildness  resembled,  perhaps,  the  flying  mane 
of  one  of  the  Prophet's  fiery  steeds  when  in 
mid-heaven,  now  streaked  all  the  upper  sky 
and  sent  a  gold-red  light  glowing  in  at  the 
hall  windows.  There  were  eight  of  these, 
tall,  shrouded  shapes,  like  uncased  mummies, 
and  where  the  faces  should  have  been,  that 
furnace-like  radiance  shone  through  folds  of 
sheer  muslin. 

The  figures  of  Barbara  and  Dering  were  re- 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  83 

vealed  as  by  a  gilded  mist,  while  they  swooped 
with  elastic  movements  among  the  shadows, 
here  and  there,  which  glittered  as  with  mica. 
Now  the  rathe  arm  and  throat  of  Barbara 
came  into  bright  relief  against  the  dusky 
formlessness,  now  it  was  Dering's  gay  crest 
of  curls  and  straining  shoulders.  The  orange- 
ribboned  hoops  circled  above,  like  two  halos 
uncertain  as  to  which  of  those  handsome 
heads  they  were  to  saint. 

Barbara  suddenly  caught  one  of  the  bright 
rings  on  her  arm  and  let  it  run  up  to  her 
shoulder. 

"  You  are  not  tired  ?"  said  Dering. 

"  Only  of  this  especial  amusement.  Look ! 
you  cannot  catch  that  before  I  do!"  She 
sent  the  grace-hoop  spinning  down  the  long 
hall  as  she  spoke,  and  leaped  out  after  it. 
Dering  was  almost  as  quick.  They  met  hus- 
tledly  in  the  gloom  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
house,  and  both  seized  the  hoop  at  once. 

"  I  touched  it  first  I"  said  Barbara. 

"  No,  I !"  declared  Dering. 

"  Indeed,  indeed  I  did  I"  persisted  she. 

"  Indeed,  indeed  you  didn't !"  he  returned, 
mockingly. 


84  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  I  will  have  it,  at  all  events,"  said  Bar- 
bara. 

"Oh,  if  you  want  to  tussle "  replied 

Dering. 

Of  all  delightful  autumnal  experiences,  a 
romp  in  a  big  country  hall  towards  twilight 
is  the  most  exhilarating.  Barbara  and  Der- 
ing wrangled  like  a  boy  and  a  girl  over  the 
grace-hoop.  She  was  as  evasive  in  her  sud- 
den dives  and  twistings  as  a  dream-woman. 
Their  breath  came  hurriedly,  and  they  be- 
gan to  pant  and  laugh  together.  Dering  was 
almost  winning,  when  some  small  object  tink- 
ling on  the  bare  floor  attracted  their  attention. 
Barbara  suddenly  released  the  grace-hoop  and 
rushed  forward. 

"You  are  welcome  to  your  prize!"  she 
called,  pausing  under  one  of  the  windows  to 
examine  her  find.  "  I  have  often  longed  to  see 
what  you  have  in  this  locket.  Now  I  will  pun- 
ish you  for  cheating.  I  will  find  out  who  your 
sweetheart  is,  and  I  will  never  again  give  you 
any  peace !" 

"  Jove !"  said  Dering,  "  was  that  my  locket  ? 
Come,  Barbara,  honestly, — don't  look  at  that, 
please ;  I  really  ask  you." 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  85 

Barbara's  reply  was  to  press  a  little  nearer 
the  window,  and  curl  her  lips  inward  in  her 
effort  to  separate  the  close  rims  of  the  small 
gold  case  in  her  hands.  Dering  came  up 
behind  her,  and  unceremoniously  took  both 
hands  and  locket  into  a  tight  grasp.  This 
locket  contained  nothing  more  sentimental 
than  an  absurd  photograph  of  Valentine 
Pomfret,  taken  when  the  two  were  at  college 
together, — one  of  those  deformed  caricatures 
which  one  sometimes  sees,  and  which  consist 
of  a  Brobdingnagian  head  on  a  Liliputian 
body.  Dering,  by  this  time,  knew  enough  of 
Barbara's  morbid  sensitiveness  to  dread  the 
effect  which  the  sudden  sight  of  this  photo- 
graph might  have  upon  her. 

"  I  tell  you  I'm  not  joking,"  he  said. 

"Nor  I.  There's  no  use  trying  to  bully 
me.  You  know  I'm  nearly  as  strong  as  you 
are.     If  you  want  another  tow-row,  all  right  " 

This  time  the  scuffle  was  wordless  and 
somewhat  earnest. 

"  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you,"  said  Dering, 
finally. 

"Don't  alarm  yourself.  I'll  stand  any 
amount  of  mangling  to  gain  my  end." 


86  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

"  You  know  I  seriously  mean  to  get  that 
from  you." 

"So  do  I  to  see  it." 

"  I  simply  can't  hurt  you,"  said  Dering,  a 
little  desperately,  "  but  I  must  have  it.  Why 
won't  you  see  I  am  in  earnest  ?" 

"  Why  won't  you  see  I  am  ?" 

"  But  such  an  ado  over  a  little  thing !" 

"  That's  what  I've  been  thinking." 

"  Barbara " 

"  It  is  my  name." 

"  I  give  you  your  last  chance.  It's  an 
antique  resort,  but  if  you  don't  give  me  that 
locket  I'll— I'll  kiss  you  !" 

"  What  a  truly  terrible  threat !" 

"  You  don't  believe  it ;  but  I  will,  I  tell 
you.  I  should  think  you  might  see  that  I've 
some  real  reason  for  not  wishing  you  to  see 
that  locket." 

"  How  deeply  penetrating  men  are !  As 
if  that  were  not  the  very  reason  that  I  wanted 
to  see  it." 

"  You  understand,  then,  that  I  really  mean 
to  kiss  you  if  you  don't  give  it  up  ?  Eeally 
I  do." 

"Do  you?"   said   Barbara.     She   escaped 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  87 

him  by  a  sudden  flashing  movement,  and 
rushed  down  the  now  almost  absolutely  dark 
hall,  impelled  by  that  delightful  feeling  of 
scared  uncertainty  which  precipitates  chil- 
dren down  a  long  staircase,  past  darkling 
coignes  where  clutched  fingers  are  waiting  to 
grasp  a  loitering  ankle. 

She  dashed  into  the  as  yet  lampless  dining- 
room,  doubled  through  a  little  corridor,  and 
rushed  back  on  her  own  traces,  laughing 
gaspingly  to  think  how  she  had  escaped  him. 
As  she  darted  through  another  door  back  into 
the  dining-room,  she  found  herself  almost  in 
Dering's  arms.  Even  then,  however,  he  did 
not  secure  her :  she  escaped  once  more,  and 
fled  into  a  dark  little  closet  to  the  left,  mis- 
taking it,  alas !  in  her  excitement,  for  a  cor- 
responding door  of  exit.  Dering  followed 
her  at  once.  She  gave  a  kind  of  laughing 
cry,  like  a  hysterical  child,  and  flattened  her- 
self against  the  wall,  thrusting  the  locket  be- 
hind her ;  but,  catching  her  about  the  waist, 
he  drew  her  forward,  feeling  for  the  locket 
with  his  other  hand.  He  might  as  well  have 
tried  to  open  a  boy's  fist.  She  bent  from  him, 
and  made,  this  time,  an  altogether  ineffectual 


88  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

attempt  to  get  away.  Dering,  rather  out  of 
patience,  stooped  down  ;  she  turned  her  head, 
a  little  frightened,  and  her  lips  brushed  his, 
— a  touch  light  as  flower-leaves,  fine  as  fire. 
In  another  instant  both  mouths  had  clung 
into  a  kiss. 

A  great  mental  blow  annihilates  memory, 
just  as  it  is  annihilated  by  a  great  physical 
blow.  Neither  Barbara  nor  Dering  recalled 
how  they  came  to  be  grouped  before  the 
dining-room  fire,  he  leaning  back  in  a  low 
arm-chair,  she  crouching  with  her  hand- 
hidden  face  against  his  knee.  All  about 
them  was  a  winter  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  ticking  of  Dering's  watch  and  Barbara's 
long-drawn,  sobbing  breaths.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  though  cold  rills  of  wind  were  playing 
up  and  down  his  limbs,  while  the  chair  in 
which  he  sat,  together  with  himself  and 
Barbara,  rose  towards  the  ceiling,  leaving  the 
floor  at  a  great  distance  beneath.  He  looked 
far  into  the  hot  core  of  the  fire,  thence  down 
at  the  smooth  curve  of  the  head  of  his 
cousin's  wife,  thinking  how  like  were  its 
shining  strands  of  hair  to  the  threads  on  a 
reel  of  silk,  and  grasping  more  firmly  the 


THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD?  89 

handles  of  the  chair  in  which  he  sat,  in  order 
to  refrain  from  touching  that  winning  lustre 
with  his  finger-ends. 

Barbara's  breath  returned  upon  her  face 
from  the  cloth  of  Dering's  trousers.  She  saw 
the  fire-red  in  blurred  lines  between  her 
fingers,  and  put  some  meaningless  words  to 
the  ticking  of  his  watch,  fantastically  liken- 
ing it  to  an  echo  of  his  heart,  which  rapped 
hurriedly  above.  She  seemed  to  see  through 
the  top  of  her  head  his  set  face,  unusual  in 
its  fierce  pallor,  and  with  eyes  gleaming  as 
she  had  remembered  them  for  that  instant 
when  they  had  flashed  into  hers  over  that 
eager  kiss.  The  fire  seemed  a  conscious 
presence  to  her,  and  its  flames  appeared  to 
leap  and  cognizantly  peer  between  her  hiding 
fingers,  until  she  felt  almost  as  though  in- 
quisitive eyes  were  upon  her.  It  was  cer- 
tain that  she  thought  of  everything  but  her 
present  situation.  She  was  kneeling  upon  a 
wrinkle  in  the  hearth-rug,  and,  feeling  that 
it  chafed  her  knees,  was  reminded  of  the 
Persian  prayer-rugs,  and  so  of  the  desert, 
and  so  of  the  dreary  possibilities  which  would 
be  included  for  a  woman  during  a  prolonged 

8* 


90  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

ride  on  camel-back.  She  wondered  if  Dering 
had  ever  mounted  upon  one  of  those  pictur- 
esquely-distorted beasts,  and  was  inclined  to 
laugh  when  she  found  that  she  had  forgotten 
whether  it  was  in  one  of  their  many  stom- 
achs or  in  their  humps  that  they  carried  the 
supply  of  water  which  prevented  them  from 
suffering  of  thirst  on  their  long  journeys. 

Dering,  in  the  mean  while,  became  also  the 
victim  of  a  profound  and  ghastly  desire  to 
laugh.  The  corners  of  his  mouth  twisted 
eyeward  in  a  mirthless  and  distorted  grin 
which  would  have  inexpressibly  horrified 
Barbara  had  she  chanced  at  that  moment  to 
glance  up.  He  controlled  this  risible  phe- 
nomenon by  a  violent  effort,  however,  and 
resumed  his  grim  stare  into  the  fire,  venturing 
after  a  while  to  pass  a  somewhat  uncertain 
hand  over  her  bending  head. 

"  No,  no,"  whispered  Barbara. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  earnestly. 
"  I  won't  touch  you  again.  I  only  want  to 
do  what  you  wish." 

She  murmured  something  which  he  had  to 
bend  down  to  hear,  and  even  then  did  not 
quite  catch. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 


91 


"It  shall  be  just  as  you  say,"  he  remarked, 
at  a  venture. 

"  You  are  so  good,"  she  whispered  back. 

"But  what  must  I  do?  I  leave  it  all  to 
you.  Must  I  go  away?  I'll  go  abroad,  if 
you  wish  it.  I'll—I'll  go  to  India:  I've  al- 
ways wanted  to  go  to  India.  I'll  send  you 
some  tiger-skins-um-that's  too  common- 
place, eh  ?  What  was  it  Isaacs  sent  his  sweet- 
heart? Tiger-ears,  wasn't  it?  I'll  send  you 
some  tiger-ears." 

"How  can  you  joke  about  it?"  cried  Bar- 
bara. 

"I  really  don't  know,"  replied  Dering 
sorrowfully.     «  Reaction,  I  suppose." 

"Oh,  it's  all  so  dreadful!— so  dreadful'" 
came  the  smothered  tones  from  his  knees. 

"  No,  I  won't  agree  to  that,"— firmly. 

"  Oh,  but  you  must.  It's  the  least  that  we 
can  do." 

"  What  is  ?  to  think  it  all  dreadful  ?" 

"Yes,  all  of  it,— all" 

:t  Well,  I  just  simply  can't.  It  may  be  a 
want  of  refinement,  or  high  feeling,-I  suppose 
one  could  find  lots  of  names  for  it,— but  I 
honestly  can't  feel  that,  you  know." 


92  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  Oh,"  said  Barbara,  "  I'm  sure  you  will. 
When  you  are  by  yourself, — in  the  dark, — 
quite  alone, — you — you  will  see  how  awful  it 
has  all  been  from  first  to  last." 

"  No,"  returned  Dering,  "  I  know  I  won't. 
You  had  better  make  up  your  mind  to  that. 
If  you're  disappointed  in  me,  it's  no  more 
than  I  am  in  myself." 

"  And  me,"  said  Barbara. 

"  In  you  ?  Darling  /"  he  breathed,  tearing 
the  fringe  on  the  rather  rickety  old  chair 
which  held  him,  in  the  effort  not  again  to 
touch  her.  "  How  can  you  say  such  things  to 
me?" 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  said  one-third  that  I  ought, 
— that  I  mean  to.  You  must  be  disappointed 
in  me :  you  cannot  help  it.  It's — it's  almost 
a  duty ;  yes,  it's  a  sacred  duty.  Disappointed 
in  me !  you  must  despise  me  !" 

"  That's  utter  nonsense !"  said  Dering,  in  a 
matter-of-fact  tone,  which  sounded  as  incon- 
gruously among  the  wailing  harmonies  of  her 
self-reproachful  voice  as  would  a  penny  trum- 
pet among  the  andante  ripples  of  the  Moon- 
light Sonata. 

"  I'm  glad  you  can  look  on  it  in  that  way," 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD!  93 

answered  Barbara,  stiffly, — if  one  can  be  said 
to  do  anything  stiffly  when  one  is  limply 
huddled  against  another's  knee.  "  Yes,  I — 
I  am  really  glad  of  that,"  she  added,  with  less 
certainty. 

"  Why,  of  course  it's  nonsense,"  said  Dering, 
stoutly.  "  When  you  are  alone  in  the  dark 
you  will  see  that."  All  at  once  he  succumbed 
to  a  sudden,  sweeping  passion.  "'  Alone  in 
the  dark/ "  he  repeated,  leaning  down  his 
arms  heavily  upon  her,  and  gathering  the  rich 
folds  of  her  gown  in  his  hands.  "  Barbara, 
you  need  never  be  that  again." 

"What?"  she  said,  huskily,  longing  to 
hear  the  words  she  knew  he  would  utter 
in  reply,  and  yet  loathing  herself  for  so 
longing.     "What?" 

"  Alone  in  the  dark,"  said  Dering,  tensely ; 
and  she  felt  his  quick  breath  glow  among  the 
fibres  of  her  hair  as  his  lips  brushed  them  in 
speaking.  She  cringed  shivering  beside  him 
a  moment  longer,  and  then  got  to  her  feet  and 
hurried  away  from  him  to  a  distant  chair. 
When  he  followed  her  and  bent  over  her,  she 
shrunk  down  from  him,  putting  up  her  open 
hands  between  them. 


94  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  It  is  what  I  must  be  forever/'  she  whis- 
pered, shakenly, —  "  always,  — always, —  al- 
ways !" 

"  No,"  said  Dering.  He  took  her  protest- 
ing hands  in  his,  and  laid  his  lips  first  to  one 
palm  and  then  to  the  other. 

"  I  tell  you  yes !"  she  said,  passionately, 
her  stormy  bosom  tossing  some  little  diamond 
pins  that  she  wore  into  iridescent  sparkles, — 
"  yes,  and  yes,  and  yes !" 

Then  she  took  his  face  into  both  hands  for 
an  instant,  and  held  it  near  her  own. 

"  We  are  both  mad,  I  think,"  she  said. 

"  Mad  if  we  persist  in  calling  simple  joy 
madness." 

"  I  have  no  right  to  joy." 

"But  I  have.  Will  you  deny  me  that 
right  ?" 

"  If  it  must  come  through  me,  yes." 

"  It  must  come  through  you,  and  I  say  no." 

"  We  are  both  very  obstinate,"  she  said,  in 
a  tired  voice. 

"There  you  are  perfectly  correct,"  an- 
swered Dering. 

"  But  I  will  conquer." 

"  There  you  are  entirely  wrong." 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  95 

"Yes,  wrong  in  everything.  There  you 
are  right.  Oh,  do  you  suppose  I  do  not  suf- 
fer ?"  she  cried,  with  sudden  bitterness.  "  I 
have  no  words  to  tell  you  what  I  suffer." 

"  Nor  I,"  he  said. 

She  rose,  and  stood  for  an  instant  unyield- 
ing in  his  embrace. 

"  You  are  -a  man/'  was  her  final  reply. 
"  You  have  not  the  complex  feelings  that  tear 
a  woman.  And  you  are  responsible  only  to 
yourself.  You  have  never — "  she  paused  a 
moment,  looking  at  him, — "  you  have  never 
been  married.  You  do  not  know  what  it  is  to 
hear  a  dead  voice  ever  in  your  ears,  to  feel 
always  a  dead  hand  claiming  you.  You  do 
not  know  what  it  is  to  sin  against  the  dead. 
The  dead,"  she  repeated,  glancing  dreadingly 
about  her. 

"  Barbara !"  said  Dering ;  but  she  escaped 
him. 

She  rushed  from  him  towards  the  half-open 
door,  her  stretched-forth  arms  repulsing  him 
as  he  advanced. 

"  No,  no !  never !"  she  whispered.  "  There 
is  a  grave  between  us, — there  is  an  open  grave 
between  us." 


96  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

VIII. 

Dering  did  not  seem  to  himself  to  walk 
back  to  the  house  at  which  he  was  stopping. 
He  had  that  sensation  of  gliding  along  without 
volition,  a  foot  or  two  above  the  ground, 
which  we  have  all  experienced  in  dreams,  and 
his  down-bent  eyes  were  not  conscious  of  the 
dreary  glisten  that  the  winter  moon  struck 
from  the  wet,  dead  leaves  about  his  feet. 
There  was  of  course  no  fire  in  his  room  when 
he  reached  it,  and  the  cold  was  intense ;  but 
he  undressed  in  the  same  species  of  stupor, 
only  rousing  for  a  moment  when  in  trying  to 
brush  out  his  thick  curls  he  discovered  that 
the  water  into  which  he  had  plunged  them 
had  frozen.  He  then  managed  to  kindle  a 
small  fire  with  some  bits  of  light- wood  and 
an  old  sporting  gazette,  kneeling  down  before 
the  brief  blaze,  his  discarded  coat  held  by  the 
sleeves  about  his  neck  in  lieu  of  a  dressing- 
gown.  It  was  slow  work,  thawing  that  thick 
mass  of  heavily-curling  locks,  and  he  threw 
on  more  wood,  still  retaining  his  crouching 
posture.  As  the  heat  increased,  he  was  con- 
scious of  an  elusive,  subtle  perfume,  which 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  97 

escaped  and  returned  as  will  a  remembered 
face ;  and  all  at  once  lie  became  aware  of  its 
origin.  It  was  that  exquisitely  fresh  "fra- 
grance which  sponges  and  some  women  share 
in  common, — a  smell  of  wild  grasses  and  the 
sea, — of  a  woman's  hair  daily  washed, — in  a 
word,  of  Barbara.  For  the  few  moments  in 
which  he  had  held  her  in  his  arms,  her  head 
had  leaned  against  his  breast.  It  was  this 
delicate  perfume  of  her  hair  which  the  fire 
was  now  drawing  from  the  cloth  of  his  coat. 
He  rose  and  plunged  into  bed,  giving  a 
great,  boyish  shudder  as  the  cold  sheets  settled 
down  about  him.  His  coat  he  had  thrown 
from  him,  and  he  lay  watching  it  now  where 
it  sprawled  in  a  dark  heap  near  the  fire-lit 
hearth.  He  longed  to  experience  again  that 
faint,  intoxicating  odor,  but  something  with- 
held him  :  it  was  like  retaining  some  spiritual 
portion  of  her  against  her  will,  and  Dering's 
pride  was  only  exceeded  by  his  honesty.  He 
was  bewildered  as  yet,  and  could  form  no 
distinct  idea  of  his  position  in  regard  to  her, 
though  of  one  thing  he  was  sure, — namely, 
that  he  had  no  right  to  think  of  her  as  a 
lover  of  his   lady.     Her  morbid   insistence 


98  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

about  the  dead  had  not  at  all  affected  him, 
but  she  had  repulsed  his  embrace,  not  yielded 
to  it,  and  he  would  not  in  imagination  take 
into  his  arms  a  woman  who  in  reality  refused 
to  remain  within  them.  He  was  a  man  of  few 
but  thorough  creeds,  and  chief  of  these  was  a 
belief,  consistently  carried  out,  which  ran  to 
the  effect  that  a  man's  thoughts  should  be 
as  respectful  to  a  chaste  woman  as  were  his 
actions.  He  knew  the  power  of  perfume 
over  the  fancy,  and  he  knew  that  self-control 
consists  chiefly  in  retaining  the  bolt  in  its 
braces,  not  in  slipping  it  out  and  then  thrust- 
ing one's  arm  in  its  place.  He  lay  quite  still, 
shivering  violently  and  endeavoring  to  fix  his 
mind  on  commonplace  things.  It  occurred 
suddenly  to  him  that  he  had  not  said  his 
prayers,  which  he  did  with  the  same  sweet, 
clean,  boyish  regularity  with  which  he  plunged 
daily  into  cold  water.  These  prayers  varied. 
They  were  sometimes  very  long,  sometimes 
merely  a  word  or  two, — never  prearranged, 
and  having  reference  to  anything  that  might 
come  into  his  head :  thus,  for  several  nights 
past  he  had  included  an  ailing  Irish  setter  in 
his  petitions.     He  was  a  being  of  vast  and 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  99 

warm  affections,  and  sometimes  asked  happi- 
ness for  those  whom  he  most  loved,  taking  a 
certain  pleasure  in  whispering  their  names 
into  his  locked  palms.  To-night  his  orisons 
ran  as  follows :  "  Dear  God,  make  Jock  a  good 
boy,  and  bless  my  father  and  mother,  and 
everybody.  Amen."  Then  he  jumped  into 
bed  again,  unconscious  that  he  had  repeated 
the  very  words  of  his  childhood  prayers,  and 
seeing  Barbara's  face  advance  and  retreat  on 
the  waves  of  darkness,  like  a  sea-tossed  flower. 
He  thrust  out  his  arms  with  a  fierce,  vehe- 
ment gesture  towards  it,  shutting  his  teeth 
until  there  was  a  sharp  ringing  in  his  ears, 
and  whispering  imperiously  behind  them, 
"  Love  me, — love  me." 

Barbara,  in  the  mean  while,  had  also  un- 
dressed mechanically ;  that  is,  she  had  cast 
aside  her  gown,  and  unloosened  her  ridgy 
hair,  letting  the  hair-pins  fall  one  by  one 
upon  the  carpet  as  she  took  them  out.  Then 
she  drew  the  glittering  lengths  together  with 
both  hands,  and  stood  staring  at  her  reflec- 
tion in  the  glass.  Presently  a  strange  smile 
broke  the  stillness  of  her  face. 

"  Urn — we  know  each  other,"  she  said,  ad- 


1 00  THE  Q UICK  OR   THE  DEAD  ? 

dressing  her  mirrored  self, — "  we  know  each 
other,  you  and  I,  but  only  we  two.  You 
really  have  a  good  face, — yes,  really  a  good 
face, — yes,  a  pure  face.  It's  pure,  I  say. 
Look  at  your  eyes, — such  a  clear,  dark, 
brown, — honest,  deep,  truthful, — real  dog- 
eyes.  And  then  your  mouth's  very  fine, — 
such  little,  deep,  cool,  high-bred  corners.  I 
like  to  look  at  you ;  yes,  you're  very  nice  to 
look  at,  my  good  girl.  Um — you  smile  so 
complacently,  I  don't  think  I'll  pay  you  any 
more  compliments.  I  think  I  will  tell  you 
what  you  really  are, — what  I  see  behind  all 
that, — what  your — husband  sees  !  Oh,  I 
know  your  name.  You  are  called  Barbara 
Pomfret, — Barbara  Pomfret, — Barbara  Pom- 
fret.  Your  husband's  name  was  Valentine 
Pomfret.  You  married  Valentine  Pomfret. 
He  is. dead,  but  his  name  is  not  dead:  it  is 
alive  in  you.  Your  name  is  Barbara  Pom- 
fret." She  leaned  forward  here  until  her 
breath  made  a  little  triangular  blur  on  the 
clear  glass.     "  There's  another  name  for  you, 

too,"  she  said.     "It  is -Wanton!"     The 

word  seemed  to  stab  her  as  though  some  one 
else  had  uttered  it. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE pEA$?  10-1 

"  O  God !"  she  cried,  falling  to  her  knees, 
"  help  me !  Dear  God,  help  me !  Hold  me. 
Let  him  come  to  me,  just  a  minute,— just  a 
minute :  I'll  pay  for  it  in  any  way  ;  I'll  be  so 
patient  afterwards.  Val,  Val,  come!  Be 
disobedient,  be  blasphemous,  be  anything; 
only  come  to  me  one  instant.  You  needn't 
even  speak.  Just  let  me  see  you, — you, 
your  very  self. 

"  Oh  !  oh !  I  forgot !  He  would  curse  me  ; 
he  would  ask  you  to  curse  me.  I  have  dese- 
crated myself.  Oh,  if  that  kiss  had  only 
burned  off  my  lips  !  Oh,  can't  I  die?  Won't 
you  let  me  die?  Won't  you  let  me  die? 
Ah,  let  me  die !  You  won't  hear !  If  there 
was  only  some  one  to  ask  for  me, — some  one 
you  loved.  Oh,  if  Christ's  mother  asks  you, 
won't  you  hear  her  ?  Dear  Mother  of  Christ, 
pray  for  me, — plead  for  me !  You  have  been 
a  woman, — a  woman  like  me ! — like  me !" 

She  fell  upon  the  floor  and  writhed  and 
sobbed  until  the  boards  vibrated  beneath  her 
agonized  movements.  Her  feverish  breath 
enveloped  her  face  in  a  steam  from  her  tear- 
drenched  hair,  as  it  had  once  before  envel- 
oped it  that  evening,  and  her  face  and  lips 

9* 


102  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

were  smarting  and  scalded  by  the  hot  drops 
ever  gushing.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  tor- 
ture, she  put  out  one  of  her  burning  hands 
and  began  to  stroke  her  own  half-bare  shoul- 
ders, with  soothing,  gentle  movements. 

"  Oh,  you  poor  thing,"  she  sobbed,  stran- 
gling, "  if  I  could  only  comfort  you  ! — if  one 
could  only  comfort  one's  self!"  And  then 
the  horrible  silent  convulsions  of  despair  and 
grief  renewed  themselves. 

It  was  not  until  a  full  hour  had  passed  that 
she  rose,  or  made  any  effort  to  compose  her- 
self. At  the  length  of  that  time,  however,  she 
kneeled  up,  and  began  gathering  her  soaked 
and  tangled  hair  from  about  her  face,  to 
which  a  net-work  of  bright  strands  clung 
moistly.  Her  under  lip  was  drawn  against 
her  teeth  every  now  and  then  by  a  struggling 
breath,  heavy  with  tears  as  a  gust  of  summer 
wind  with  thick  rain.  These  shuddering 
breaths  recurred  at  regular  intervals,  and 
were  as  though  she  were  trying  to  force  her- 
self to  swallow  some  noxious  draught,  while 
her  throat  ached  as  though  she  had  been  guil- 
lotined and  was  conscious  of  the  wound.  She 
got  to  her  feet  finally,  swerved  a  moment,  and 


THE  QUICK  OB    THE  DEAD?  103 

stood  erect,  looking  about  her  with  a  just-bora 
resolve ;  then  she  moved  to  the  fire,  which  had 
glowered  down  in  crimson  rifts  among  a  crust 
of  white  wood-ashes,  and  spread  out  her  hands 
to  its  glow,  at  the  same  time  looking  up  to  the 
shadowy  ceiling.  Her  wretched  face,  glazed 
with  tears,  borrowed  color  from  the  rich  coals, 
so  that  as  she  kneeled,  staring  upward,  with 
large,  distended  eyes,  she  seemed  like  the 
Priestess  of  Fever  presiding  over  her  altar- 
fires. 

It  was  only  a  few  moments,  however,  before 
she  rose  again,  and  passed  from  the  warm  room 
out  into  the  dark  and  draughty  hall  without, 
where  the  watery  moonlight  fell  in  oblong 
shapes  upon  the  floor  of  wTaxed  oak.  This 
bleak  and  waning  light  only  served  to  confuse 
her,  and,  shutting  her  eyes,  she  felt  her  way 
with  extended  hands,  until  her  palms  came  in 
contact  with  the  carving  on  a  chest  to  one  side. 
Opening  this  chest,  she  filled  her  arms  with 
some  soft  draperies,  and  returned  to  her  room, 
locking  the  door  after  her.  She  lighted  the 
small  silver  Pompeiian  lamp  that  swung  from 
the  canopy-rail  of  her  bed,  and  this  wan 
radiance  fell  down  in  languid  uncertainty  upon 


104  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

the  kneeling  woman,  and  the  mass  of  crushed 
white  satin  and  lace  with  which  her  arms 
were  filled.  This  mass  she  extended  upon 
the  silken  coverlet,  touching  its  folds  into 
place  with  a  soft  and  gentle  reverence,  and 
spreading  above  it  the  veil  of  delicate  tulle. 
She  then  took  from  her  throat  the  gold 
miniature-case  which  contained  her  husband's 
likeness,  and,  opening  it,  laid  it  down  upon 
the  sheening  folds  before  her.  Next  she  de- 
liberately drew  off  her  fur-lined  dressing-gown 
and  slippers. 

The  fire  was  now  a  mere  pale  blur  here 
and  there  in  the  dark  chimney-place,  and  a 
cold,  bitter  and  intense,  pervaded  the  room, 
while  outside  the  wind  rose  a  little  and  then 
dropped  abruptly  like  a  thing  too  heavy  for 
its  wings. 

In  the  strong  draught  which  passed  from 
one  loosely-hung  door  to  the  other,  the  silver 
lamp  swung  to  and  fro,  changing  the  shadows 
in  the  satin  folds  underneath,  and  seeming  to 
strike  sparks  from  Barbara's  bending  head. 

All  night  she  kneeled  there,  clad  only  in 
her  night-dress  of  thin  cambric.  The  dreary 
winter  sounds  outside  seemed  not  to  disturb 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  105 

her.  Now  one  heard  the  clash  of  ice-coated 
twigs  in  the  fitful  gusts,  now  the  crisp  sound 
of  some  hoofed  thing  as  it  broke  through  the 
frost-rime  matting  the  dead  grass.  Now  a 
shutter  clapped  forward  and  then  back  again, 
startling  the  house-dog  to  dismal  barkings, 
or  an  owl  screamed  its  desolate  tremolo,  first 
close  at  hand,  then  flying  farther  off,  as  though 
to  imitate  an  echo. 

IX. 
A  whole  week  passed  before  he  saw  her 
again,  and  then  it  was  only  by  accident.  He 
had  walked  over  to  Eosemary  as  usual,  and, 
on  being  told  of  Barbara's  absence,  had  de- 
cided to  strike  out  across  the  fields  on  his 
homeward  way,  rather  than  take  that  monot- 
onous tramp  along  the  frost-roughened  roads. 
As  he  swung  himself  over  the  low  gray  fence 
at  the  back  of  the  stables  into  the  brown  and 
neglected  field  beyond,  he  felt  as  though  he 
were  becoming  part  of  some  cleverly-executed 
water-color.  The  sweeps  of  ragged  hill-side, 
undefined  and  vaguely  dark  in  the  winter 
twilight,  seemed  as  though  roughly  washed 
in  sepia,  and  their  tall  weeds  bristled  at  top 


106  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

against  a  wall  of  clear,  chrome  yellow  ribbed 
with  scarlet. 

The  broad  backs  of  some  huddling  sheep 
caught  here  and  there  a  faded  reflection,  and 
the  hurried  tinkling  of  the  bell  on  the  neck 
of  a  homeward-driven  cow  broke  the  cold 
stillness.  At  the  bottom  of  the  field  an  ice- 
coated  brook  pursued  its  sluggish  way,  and 
Dering  paused  to  break  off  some  slivers  of  the 
ice  and  transfer  them  to  his  mouth,  a  boyish 
trick  which  he  could  never  resist.  As  he  stood 
erect,  after  accomplishing  this  somewhat  slip- 
pery feat,  he  saw  a  tall  figure  about  ten  yards 
farther  off,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream, 
motionless,  beside  a  half-burned  brush  fire. 
The  pale  smoke-spiral  curled  slowly  up  be- 
yond, seeming  to  encircle  her  in  its  mystic 
whorl. 

In  an  instant  he  was  beside  her  and  had 
her  hands  in  his.  She  caught  her  breath 
sharply,  but  made  no  exclamation,  and  they 
stood  searching  each  other's  faces  in  the 
feathery  light. 

He  spoke  first,  excited  and  breathless : 
"  You — you  ?  Why  have  you  tried  to  hide 
from  me  ?     You  cannot :  it  is  useless.     You 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  107 

see?"  And  lie  drew  her  towards  him  as 
he  spoke ;  but  she  was  as  rigid  and  unyield- 
ing as  a  figure  of  iron :  in  truth  her  heavy 
black  garments,  seen  in  this  reddish-gray 
light,  resembled  draperies  of  that  sombre 
metal. 

"Let  my  hands  go!  let  my  hands  go!" 
she  said  to  him. 

For  answer  he  lifted  first  one  and  then  the 
other  to  his  lips.  She  felt  their  warm  cling- 
ing through  her  thick  gloves,  but  this  rich 
sensation  only  served  to  fix  her  in  her  austere 
determination. 

"  I  will  not,"  she  said  ;  and,  drawing  her- 
self haughtily  away  to  the  whole  length  of 
her  long  arms,  she  repeated,  in  a  tone  which 
she  had  caught  from  him,  and  behind  her 
closed  teeth,  "I will  not." 

«  t  Words, — words, — words/  "  said  Dering. 

He  released  her  hands,  took  her  in  his 
arms,  and  crushed  her  to  him  by  main  force. 

"  You  see  ?"  he  said,  again. 

"That  is  nothing.  It  is  nothing,  I  tell 
you.  You  are  a  man,  and  your  body  is 
stronger  than  mine ;  but  your  will  is  not ;  no, 
your  will  is  not." 


108  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

"  You  think  so  ?"  whispered  Dering,  with 
his  lips  against  her  ear.  His  breath  streamed 
down  her  cheeks  in  among  the  black  furs  at 
her  throat,  thrilling  her  to  the  quick,  and  she 
began  to  pant  frantically. 

"  You  are  cruel,"  she  said,  repulsing  him 
as  best  she  could.  "  All  men  are  cruel.  You 
are  like  the  rest.     You  are  cruel." 

"  No,"  replied  Dering,  "  it  is  not  I  who 
am  cruel.  It  is  you.  You  are  cruel  to 
yourself." 

"  I  want  to  be !  I  want  to  be  !" 

"  You  are  cruel  to  yourself,  but  you  are  far 
crueller  to  me." 

"  I  must  be.     I  must  be  punished  through 

you." 

"  You  must  be  punished  through  no  one." 

"  I  tell  you  I  must.  I  have  asked  God  to 
j^unish  me.  I  asked  him  all  one  night  on 
my  knees,  in  the  cold,  with  nothing  on  but 
my  thin  night-gown.  You  remember  that 
night  last  week, — that  night?  The  ther- 
mometer went  to  zero.  That  was  the  night 
I  asked  him." 

"  You  are  mad." 

"  No,  no,  I'm  not :  I  wish  I  were 1" 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  109 

"  Perhaps  it  will  help  you  to  drive  me  mad  ? 
Will  it?" 

"  I  said  you  were  cruel.  Oh,  women  could 
not  say  such  things  to — to  those  who — to  those 
they  cared  for." 

"  Well,  never  mind,  then.  I  don't  suppose 
either  of  us  know  exactly  what  we  are  saying. 
Look  here :  you're  not  near  warmly  enough 
dressed." 

"  I  have  on  fur,"  she  said,  putting  her  hand 
to  her  throat  with  a  certain  guilty  timidity. 

"  Urn — yes,  a  little  strip  around  your  neck," 
replied  Dering,  unconvinced.  "  But  this  jacket 
is  the  same  one  you  used  to  wear  all  those 
warm  October  days.     You  see  I  remember." 

"lam  warm  enough,"  she  answered,  through 
chattering  teeth. 

"  Oh,  if  you  insist,  certainly,"  he  said. 
Then  there  fell  a  silence  between  them. 

"  How  pretty  that  is !"  she  ventured  at  last, 

disturbing  the  brush-ashes  with  the  toe  of  her 

boot.     The  coals  glared  in  red  strips  through 

the  delicate  white  rime,  like  the  core  of  some 

flaming  fruit  through  its  outer  husk ;   here 

and   there    little   wavering    corkscrew   films 

went  melting  upward. 
10 


110  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

"  Very  pretty,"  muttered  Dering,  absently 
All  at  once  lie  whirled  about,  and  caught  her 
again  in  his  arms.  "  Here,"  he  said,  "  tell 
me  the  truth  here, — breast  to  breast,  heart  to 
heart,  life  to  life.  I  know  that  morbid  thought 
that  haunts  you.  Put  it  away.  Do  you  hear  ? 
I  command  you.  I  am  your  lover.  You  hear  ? 
I  command  you  to  stop  thinking  those  awful 
ghoulish  thoughts.  No,  don't  struggle, — please 
don't.  Dear, — so  dear, — let  me  tell  you  what 
I  found  last  night  in  my  prayer-book.  It's 
one  I'm  awfully  fond  of:  my  favorite  sister 
gave  it  to  me, — the  lame  one,  you  know,  who 
died.  I  was  thinking  about  her,  and  how  she 
used  to  help  me  and  love  me,  and  I  felt  as 
though  she  were  telling  me  where  to  turn,  and 
then  I  put  my  finger  on  these  words  :  '  The 
living — the  living  shall  praise  thee,  O  Lord.' 
There,  darling,  that's  it, — *  The  living.''  Don't 
you  see?  Why,  it  was  just  like  a  message, — 
just  like  a  word  from  God  himself.  'The 
living'  Barbara, — '  the  living  /'  " 

"  Have  pity !"  she  cried,  hoarsely,  clinging 
to  him.     "  Mercy  !  have  mercy  !" 

There  were  great,  scalding  tears  in  his  eyes. 
"  Oh,  darling,"  he  said,  "  you  ask  me  that  ? 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  m 

— when  you  haven't  any  mercy  on  yourself? 
Oh,  you  poor  darling !  For  heaven's  sake, 
Barbara,  look  on  this  thing  rationally,  hu- 
manly, as  we  were  meant  to  look  on  such 
things.  Why,  darling,  think  of  it!  he  is 
not  your  husband  now :  he's  a  spirit, — an 
essence ;  no  more  than  that  smoke  curling 
up  at  our  feet.  There  !  there !  I'm  a  clumsy 
brute.  Oh,  I  wish  to  God  God  would  help 
me!" 

Neither  of  these  frantic  creatures  caught, 
in  this  despairing  appeal,  that  touch  of  humor 
which  grief,  in  certain  moments  of  necessity, 
will  invariably  borrow  from  mirth.  They 
grasped  each  other,  trembling  violently,  and 
feeling  the  earth  wave  beneath  their  feet  like 
a  shaken  carpet. 

Dering  was  the  first  to  sj)eak. 

"  Don't  cry  like  that,"  he  urged.  "  I  can't 
stand  it;  I  simply  can't  stand  it.  Darling, 
you  will  drive  us  both  crazy  !  Oh,  why  can't 
you  see  it  all  as  clearly  and  blessedly  as  I 
can  ?  Barbara.,  it  was  meant  to  be ;  it  was, 
darling,  I  know  it  was.  Look  here  :  I  didn't 
mean  to  come  to  Virginia  this  autumn  :  I  was 
going  to  Canada  with  a  friend  of  mine ;  and 


112  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

he  fell  through  a  trap  at  a  theatre  and  got 
awfully  hurt,  and  so  of  course  we  couldn't  go. 
And  then — look  here,  dear,  please  listen, — 
please  don't  cry  like  that.  Look :  this  will 
seem  funny  to  you, — it's  got  a  ghastly  sort 
of  fun  in  it, — but  I  had  taken  a  dislike  to 
you  without  seeing  you.  Honestly,  dearest,  I 
had.  I  made  Va — I  mean  I  made  some  one 
awfully  angry  once  by  telling  them  I  thought 
your  photograph  looked  coarse.  Think  of 
it !  I  said  I  thought  you  looked  coarse !  My 
darling, — darling, — darling! 

She  shuddered  afresh,  pressing  closer  to 
him,  and  at  the  same  time  urging  him  from 
her. 

"  It's  what  I  am,"  she  muttered,  brokenly. 

"What  is?"  demanded  Dering,  startled, 
then,  as  her  meaning  flashed  on  him,  violently 
indignant.  "  You  seem  to  take  a  sort  of  de- 
light in  saying  that  sort  of  thing  to  me,"  he 
cried.  "  You  know  it's  false.  You  know 
the  very  idea's  ridiculous.  You  know  I  only 
told  you  because  I  thought  it  might  take  you 
out  of  yourself,  it  was  so  perfectly  ridiculous. 
Barbara !  stop  crying." 

"Oh,   let  me! — let  me!"   she  whispered, 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  113 

with  a  beseeching  movement  of  her  whole 
figure. 

"  Why,  certainly,  if  it  comforts  you,  my 
poor  dear,"  he  said,  stroking  all  of  her  hair 
that  he  could  reach  beneath  her  close  hat. 
To  this  she  replied  by  a  wail  of  absolute 
despair. 

"  Nothing  will  ever  comfort  me  again,"  she 
cried ;  "  and  if  it  could  I  ought  not  to  want 
it  to." 

"  My  own  girl,  I  wish  I  could  make  you 
see  how  morbid  you  are." 

"How  can  you  call  it  morbidness?"  she 
said,  suddenly  releasing  herself.  "Suppose 
y0U — had  —  been — my — husband.  Would 
you  want  me  to  forget  ?" 

He  noticed  the  same  apprehensive,  back- 
ward glance  that  followed  any  mention  of  her 
husband.  It  touched  him  with  a  horrified 
and  gushing  tenderness,  and  he  spoke  under 
its  warm  impulse.  He  took  both  her  hands, 
crossing  one  above  the  other,  and  pressing 
them  convincingly  between  his  own  as  he 
talked.  "Listen:  let  me  tell  you  how  I 
would  have  felt,"  he  said.  "  I  would  have 
felt  that  anything,  anything  which  could  add 
10* 


114  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

to  your  happiness  while  on  earth  would  have 
my  blessing.  Any  true,  honest,  unselfish 
man  would  feel  so.  I'm  sure  that  it's  just 
the  way  he  felt." 

He  was  astonished  at  the  stricken  cry 
which  broke  from  her,  as  she  tore  her  hands 
away  and  faced  him  with  tumultuous  bosom. 

"Then  you  don't  love  me!"  she  cried. 
"  You  don't  know  what  love  is.  You  could 
never  say  that  if  you  really  loved  me.  It's 
hideous.  You  would  never  understand.  Oh, 
it  makes  me  wild  to  see  how  calmly  you  stand 
there  !  You  don't  know.  Men  never  know. 
They  never  really  suffer.  They  get  over 
things  so.  Their  memories  are  like — like 
photographs, — they  fade  out  so.  Women's 
memories  are  like  statues  :  you  may  break 
them  in  pieces,  you  may  leave  them  out  in 
storms  until  they  are  all  discolored,  you  can 
always  put  them  together  again.  No  matter 
how  stained  they  are,  they  always  retain  their 
shape.  It  is  our  greatest  curse.  Yes,  it  is  a 
curse  upon  us.  We  can't  forget!  we  can't 
forget !" 

She  threw  herself  forward  on  her  knees 
among  the  thick,  tangled  grasses,  and  took 


THE   QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  115 

her  face  into  her  desolate-looking,  black- 
gloved  hands.  Dering  stood  staring  down 
upon  her,  helpless,  almost  hopeless. 

"  There's  nothing  I  can  say,"  he  ventured 
at  last,  in  a  broken  voice. 

"No,  there's  nothing, — there's  nothing," 
she  said.  "  If  I  could  forget,  there  might  be 
something.  It's  that  awful  distinct  recollec- 
tion that  I  have  of  everything.  Why,  I  can 
see  him  now, — I  can  hear  him.  I  can  see 
him  lighting  his  cigar,  coming  home  in  the 
dusk.  I  can  see  the  very  streaks  of  light  on 
his  hat-brim  and  between  his  fingers,  and  the 
dead  golden-rod  stalks  looking  all  pinched 
and  gray  about  our  feet.  I  can  hear  him  say, 
*  Look  out !  there  s  a  man-trap !'  as  he  caught 
his  foot  in  a  tangle  of  grass.  I  can  see  the 
way  he  used  to  go  about  looking  for  a  com- 
fortable chair,  with  his  cigar  in  one  hand, 
and  a  book  folded  over  his  forefinger.  I  can 
see  him  making  tea  for  me  when  I  was  ill,  and 
burning  his  fingers,  and  dancing  about  with 
pain — ha !  ha !  ha  !  He  was  so  absurd  some- 
times !  Oh,  Val !  Val !"  she  ended,  with  a 
perfect  shriek  of  desolation. 

Dering  felt  as  though  she  had  thrust  her 


116  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

hand  into  his  breast  and  was  twisting  his 
heart-strings  about  with  her  strong,  supple 
fingers,  as  he  had  seen  her  twist  the  grey- 
hound puppies'  ears.  At  that  moment  noth- 
ing ap£>eared  of  much  consequence.  He 
thought  mechanically  that  he  would  go  out 
shooting  to-morrow,  and  wondered  if  the 
Irish  setter  would  have  recovered  sufficiently 
to  accompany  him. 

Suddenly  she  stretched  up  to  him  two 
feeble,  appealing  hands.  "  Let  us  go  home," 
she  said,  wearily.  "  I  am  so  tired.  I  feel  so 
ill." 

He  put  a  gentle  arm  about  her,  and  she 
leaned  heavily  against  him  as  they  passed  on 
through  the  overgrown  field,  the  wild-rose 
brambles  catching  against  her  sorrowful  skirts 
and  pulling  them  backward  every  moment  or 
so.  It  was  too  dark  to  distinguish  anything 
save  the  gaunt  net-work  of  the  trees  against 
the  lowering  sky,  and  the  dark  jutting  of  the 
stable-roof  and  the  tall  chimneys  of  Rose- 
mary. 

X. 

Barbara,  who  lay  awake  nearly  all  of  that 
night,  had  been  sleeping  restlessly  for  about 


THE   QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  H7 

an  hour,  when  Rameses  awakened  her.  Her 
method  of  rousing  her  mistress  was  somewhat 
unique,  and  consisted  in  kneeling  down  by 
the  bed  and  keeping  her  large,  circular  eyes 
upon  those  of  Barbara.  On  this  occasion  she 
had  prefaced  this  performance  by  propping  an 
envelojDe  against  the  pillow,  and  as  her  mis- 
tress awoke  she  pushed  it  towards  her  with 
one  slender  brown  finger. 

"What  is  it?  A  letter?  Is  it  time  for 
the  post?  Have  I  slept  so  late?"  asked 
Barbara,  hurriedly.  Then  she  saw  that  there 
was  no  stamp  on  the  envelope,  and  recognized 
Dering's  handwriting. 

"  Open  the  closet  door  a  little,"  she  said, 
and,  leaning  on  her  elbows  among  the  tum- 
bled bedclothes,  she  read  the  note  in  the 
chink  of  light  admitted  through  the  window 
of  the  closet.  Its  contents  were  brief,  and 
ran  as  follows : 

"I  am  going  to  New  York  on  the  first 
afternoon  train.  I  will  not  come  to  Rose- 
mary again,  to  torture  and  worry  you.  I 
understand  perfectly.  Never  think  that  I 
misjudge  you.     Could  you  scratch  me  just  a 


118  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  BEAD? 

word  or  two  to  take  with  me  ?  Or  send  me  a 
marked  book, — one  that  you  have  marked, 
of  course.  If  you  need  me  or  want  to  see 
me  at  any  time,  you  have  only  to  telegraph 
Manhattan  Club.  I  will  send  you  my  ad- 
dress if  I  go  abroad.  I  am  afraid  this  is 
an  unearthly  hour  to  rout  you  up,  but  I  have 
to  leave  on  a  very  early  train  to  make  con- 
nection at  Charlottesville,  and  I  feel  selfish 
enough  to  put  you  to  a  little  inconvenience 
when  I  think  of  those  awful  hours  of  waiting 
in  that  village,  and  how  a  note  or  book  from 
you  would  help  me  out. 

"  Yours, 

"J.  D." 

Barbara  put  back  her  tangled  hair,  and 
looked  up  at  Rameses  out  of  eyes  heavy  with 
tears  and  sleep. 

"  Who  brought  this  ?  Is  he  waiting  ?"  she 
demanded. 

"  Yease'm,  he's  a-waitin\  "Tis  Unc'  Jim's 
boy  Granville." 

"  Well,  then,  give  me  some  paper,  and  a 
pencil,  and  a  book  to  write  on." 

She  wrote  the  following  note,  still  lying 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  119 

down  in  bed,  and  leaning  first  to  one  side  and 
then  the  other,  as  her  arms  began  to  tingle 
numbly  with  the  strain  : 

"If  you  would  like,  come  over  at  two 
o'clock  and  I  can  drive  you  to  Charlottesville 
in  time  for  the  6.30  Express,  and  then  you 
won't  have  any  waiting  to  do.  If  not,  write 
me  again,  and  I  will  send  the  book  you  wish 
to  the  station.  I  thank  you  with  all  my  (she 
had  written  "heart,"  then  scratched  it  out 
elaborately  and  put  a  very  distinct  "  power" 
after  it)  power  for  your  kindness  to  me  always. 

"  Barbara." 

The  signature  also  showed  signs  of  fluctu- 
ation. It  had  first  been  "  Yours  ever,  B.  R. 
P.,"  then  "  As  ever,"  then  merely  "  B.,"  and 
finally  a  rather  infinitesimal  "  Barbara," — as 
though  she  were  trying  to  express  a  whisper 
in  writing  by  the  smallness  of  her  chirogra- 
The reply  to  this  missive  came  shortly, — a 
telegraphic  formula  of  ten  words : 

"  Will  be  at  Bosemary  2  sharp.     You  are 
so  good.     J." 


120  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

When  Kameses  had  prepared  her  bath,  and 
thrown  wide  all  four  of  the  large  windows, 
Barbara  saw  that  it  was  raining  gently  but 
constantly.  The  whole  lawn  had  a  sodden, 
unkempt  appearance,  and  some  plough-horses 
that  had  strayed  into  the  enclosure  glistened 
dismally.  The  roads  would  be  in  a  fright- 
ful state,  and  she  thought  with  a  palpable 
shudder  of  her  long,  dreary,  companionless 
homeward  drive  that  evening.  She  decided 
that  she  would  not  trust  herself  to  be  her 
own  charioteer  on  such  a  gloomy  night,  and 
had  recourse  to  the  heretofore  despised 
"  carry-all"  and  "  Unc'  Joshua." 

Dering  was  punctual  to  the  second,  and 
they  set  off  at  ten  minutes  past  two,  half 
smothered  in  the  fur  carriage-robes  with 
which  Miss  Fridiswig  had  heaped  them. 

It  was  still  raining  as  they  drove  out  upon 
the  high-road,  but  with  less  steadiness,  and 
the  mists  upon  the  hills,  which  were  of  a 
dark,  soaked  purple,  had  lifted,  and  hung  in 
dissolving  wreaths  here  and  there  above  the 
rich  slopes.  Beauregard  Walsingliam  rode 
behind  to  open  gates,  and  Unc'  Joshua  had 
the   front   seat  of  the   carry-all   to  himself, 


THE  QUICK  OB   TEE  DEAD?  121 

slipping  about  at  particularly  uneven  bits  in 
the  road,  with  a  creaking  sound  of  damp 
leather.  This  carriage  was  perhaps  twenty 
years  old,  and  rattled  in  more  places  than  one 
could  imagine  it  possible  for  a  vehicle  of  any 
description  to  rattle, — filling  up  the  gaps  in 
Dering's  and  Barbara's  somewhat  spasmodic 
conversation,  as  Feuillet  says  the  noise  of 
Paris  fills  up  the  gaps  in  a  Parisian's  life. 

He  had  told  her  perhaps  ten  times  of  her 
goodness  in  driving  with  him  to  Charlottes- 
ville, for  the  same  number  of  times  she  had 
replied  that  it  was  only  a  pleasure,  and  they 
had  admired  in  every  variety  of  language 
every  variety  of  tone  in  the  dense  gray  air 
about  them,  when  he  turned  abruptly  to  her. 

"How  I  will  miss  you!"  he  said,  in  a 
strangled  voice,  and  then  twice,  back  of  his 
teeth,  in  that  way  he  had,  and  speaking  in 
French  for  fear  of  Unc'  Joshua,  "  Je  t'aime ! 
— -je  tfaime  I" 

"  No,  no,"  she  whispered,  bracing  herself 
away  from  him  by  means  of  her  hand  against 
his  knee  under  the  fur  robes.  He  drew  off 
his  gloves  and  held  it  there,  his  pulses  throb- 
bing riotously,  his  eyes  on  hers. 
11 


122  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD  ? 

"Don't  look  at  me,"  she  said,  with  some 
confusion.     "  It  is  so  light." 

"  I  believe  I  could  see  your  eyes  in  the 
dark,  like  a  tiger's." 

"  Don't  talk  so  loud.  He  hears  every  word. 
They  understand  a  great  deal  more  than  you 
think.  Oh,  what  a  wonderful  tone  of  red 
that  field  is !  Why,  it  has  a  bloom  on  it  like 
a  grape." 

"Yes, — lovely,  lovely.  Leave  your  hand 
there,  please." 

"  I  never — really,  I  never  dreamed  of  such 
a  color.  And,  oh,  that  broom-field  beyond, 
with  the  dark  patches !  And  the  belt  of 
black  woods  !     Oh  !" 

"  Yes,  and  that  ragged  blue  line  beyond. 
What  is  that  ?  Is  it  the  Blue  Eidge  ?  No, 
don't  take  it  away, — not  yet." 

"  Yes,  that's  the  Blue  Bidge.  I  wish  we 
could  see  it  from  Bosemary.  But  you  should 
drive  through  all  this  in  June." 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  I?  I  mean  to. 
Look :  I  have  something  to  ask  you.  It 
isn't  much.  Look:  I  just  want  to  take  off 
your  glove.     May  I  ?" 

"No,"   she   said,   drawing  short,   difficult 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  123 

breaths ;  "  no.     How  can  you  talk  to  me  like 
that?" 

"  Good  heavens !  how  am  I  to  talk  to  you  ? 
You  should  have  let  me  go  as  I  meant  to. 
Why  did  you  propose  to  drive  me  to  Char- 
lottesville ?     You  knew  how  it  would  be 

No,  I  don't  mean  that.  Forgive  me.  But 
you  must  know  that  I  can't  be  near  you  with- 
out telling  you  how  I  feel  to  you.  You  must 
know  that.  Did  you  expect  me  to  drive  all 
these  miles  like  a  stock  or  a  stone  ?  I'm  afraid 
that's  not  as  original  as  it  might  be,  eh  ?  But 
look  :  let  me  take  your  glove  off?" 

In  reply  she  drew  her  hand  decidedly  out 
of  his,  and  buried  it  in  her  lap.  Her  face  was 
turned  from  him  so  that  he  got  a  mere  sugges- 
tion of  her  profile,  but  he  saw  that  she  was 
blushing  desperately. 

"  I  bother  you  so,"  he  said,  with  regret. 
"  No,  it  isn't  that.     Oh,  what  a  water-color 
study  that  man  would  make  I" 

"  Excellent,"  admitted  Dering.  The  man 
in  question  was  a  young  negro  of  strapping 
figure,  to  which  his  blue  jeans  shirt  and  trou- 
sers had  modelled  themselves  accurately.  On 
his  head  was  a  moth-eaten  sealskin  cap  of  a 


124  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

delicious  mingled  brown.  His  hands,  one  of 
which  was  bandaged  with  dirty  white  cotton, 
were  clasped  behind  his  throat,  and  he  carried 
his  gun  through  his  bended  arms. 

On  his  trousers  a  brace  of  just-shot  hares, 
dangling  to  and  fro,  had  left  a  moist  crimson 
stain.  It  was  the  highest  note  of  color  in 
this  study  of  faded  blues  and  browns,  the 
cotton  bandage  and  the  breasts  and  tails  of 
the  poor  "  molly-cottons"  being  the  only  high 
lights,  so  to  speak. 

"Isn't  he  like  one  of  what's-his-name's 
aquarelles  ?  Look,  now  !  there,  as  he  comes 
out  against  that  dull-yellowish  field, — there, 

with  that  patchy  gray  sky  above Oh,  I 

wish  I  could  paint, — with  my  hands,  I  mean  : 
I  am  always  painting  pictures  to  myself  with 
my  fancy." 

"So  am  I,"  said  Dering.  She  colored 
deeply  again,  and  seemed  to  have  caught  the 
button  of  her  glove  in  the  fur  robe. 

"Let  me  help  you,"  he  suggested,  and, 
having  done  so,  kept  her  hand  in  his.  She 
had  not  time  to  withdraw  it  before  they  were 
aware  from  "  Unc'  Joshua's"  back  that  some- 
thing   unusual   was   going   on   in   the    road 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  125 

beyond.  There  is  nothing  more  expressive 
than  a  negro  coachman's  back,  not  even  the 
eyes  of  a  hungry  dog.  Apprehension  was 
written  in  the  hunched  curve  of  "  Unc' 
Joshua's"  vertebrae  and  the  outward  crook 
of  his  bowed  arms.  He  half  rose,  still  curi- 
ously contorted,  and  peered  from  side  to  side 
between  his  horse's  ears. 

"What's  up?  Sit  down.  What's  the 
matter?"  said  Dering,  who  was  sometimes 
exasperated  by  the  theatrical  gymnastics  of 
would-be-impressive  darkies.  "  Come,  what's 
all  this  about  ?"  he  demanded  again. 

"Suppn's  done  broke  down  in  de  road, 
suh,"  replied  Unc'  Joshua,  still  curving  and 
peering, — "  a  wagon  or  suppn'." 

Dering  stood  up  also. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Barbara,  a  little  ner- 
vously. 

"  I  sees !  I  sees !"  now  cried  Unc'  Joshua : 
"  'tis  one  uh  dem  young  Buzzies.  He  cyart 
done  broke  down,  —  right  'crost  de  road, 
too." 

"  One  of  the  Buzzies !"  cried  Barbara,  in 

dismay.     "  Good  gracious !   we  will  have  to 

pick  him  up  if  his  trap's  broken.     It's  too 
11* 


126  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

bad !  Look  again,  Uncle  Joshua.  Are  you 
sure  his  wagon's  broken  ?  Perhaps  the  har- 
ness is  just  tangled." 

"  Norm,"  said  the  old  black,  positively, 
"  dey  ain'  nuttin'  twangled  dar.  'Tis  bust  all 
tuh  scrakshuns"  (anglice  unknown). 

"  I  suppose  this  is  young  Buzzy  coming 
here  now,"  said  Dering,  in  a  surly  tone. 
"  What  a  name  ! — Buzzy  /" 

"  It  isn't  near  as  bad  as  the  man,"  said 
Barbara,  gloomily. 

Young  Buzzy  here  appeared  at  the  side  of 
the  carry-all  and  thrust  out  a  lank  hand,  ex- 
posing a  frayed  red-flannel  undershirt-sleeve 
in  the  vehemence  of  his  gesture. 

"  Howdy  ?"  he  said,  including  them  both 
in  this  concise  greeting.  "  Howdy,  Unc' 
Joshua  ?"  he  added. 

Unc'  Joshua  removed  his  battered  silk  hat, 
with  an  elaborate  shifting  of  lines  and  whip 
from  one  hand  to  the  other. 

"  Mornin',  suh,"  he  said, — "mornin',  morn- 
in'." 

"  I  cert'n'y  am  lucky,"  pursued  Mr.  Buzzy, 
again  addressing  Barbara  and  Dering.  "  I 
wuzn't  bawn  with  a  caul  for  nothin'.     Hyah ! 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?            127 
hyah !    Ever  read  David  Copperfield,  Mr. 


Excuse  me,  but  are  you  Mr.  George  Pomfret?" 
"  No ;  my  name's  Dering,"  replied  the  ad- 
dressed, whose  manner  was  perfectly  cour- 
teous, if  somewhat  frost-bitten.  Barbara  was 
nibbling  her  inner  lip  fiercely  and  trying  to 
look  as  usual. 

"  Can't  we  help  you  ?"  pursued  Dering. 
"  You  seem  to  have  come  to  grief." 

"  Come  to  grief !"  echoed  the  other.  "  Well, 
it's  more  like  grief  had  come  to  me.  Hyah  ! 
hyah  !"  And  he  laughed  again,  producing  a 
sound  like  that  made  by  a  stick  drawn  rap- 
idly along  an  iron  railing.  This  laugh  jarred 
so  on  Dering  that  he  felt  as  though  he  would 
like  to  loosen  his  skin  and  jump  out  of  it :  as 
the  next  best  thing,  he  jumped  out  of  the 
carry-all  and  made  his  way  to  the  wreck  of 
Mr.  Buzzy's  trap.  That  gentleman  followed 
shortly,  standing  resignedly  by  while  Dering 
inspected  the  chaos  of  wine-sap  apples,  pota- 
toes, and  bundles  of  fodder  which  were  heaped 
up  about  the  body  of  the  broken  wagon.  Its 
owner  ventured  no  explanation,  but  remained 
passive,  holding  a  hairy  wrist  in  either  hand, 
and  rubbing;  his  thumbs  about  on  his  arms 


128  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

underneath  his  red-flannel  shirt-sleeves.  He 
was  otherwise  attired  in  a  suit  of  snuff-brown 
stripes  alternating  with  black,  wore  a  soft 
gray  felt  hat,  and  a  red  satin  tie  with  green 
bars  across  it. 

His  face  was  of  a  shiny  fairness,  deepening 
to  a  mottled  plum-color  on  his  cheeks  and  the 
bridge  of  his  nose,  and  his  eyebrows,  which  he 
continually  rubbed  the  wrong  way  with  one 
of  those  restless  thumbs,  were  of  a  pale  straw- 
color,  over  eyes  which  matched  the  tint  upon 
his  cheeks.  He  had  lost  a  tooth  directly  in 
front,  and  could  not  keep  his  tongue  from  in- 
cessantly playing  in  and  out  of  this  unpleasing 
hollow.  Dering  felt  a  great  loathing  swell 
his  throat,  and  as  Buzzy  sidled  nearer  over 
the  soggy  ground,  his  perfume  of  damp  cloth, 
hair-oil,  and  stable  did  not  mitigate  this  sen- 
timent. Was  it  possible  that  he  and  Bar- 
bara would  have  to  drive  the  rest  of  the  way 
to  Charlottesville  behind  that  reeking  per- 
sonality ? 

"  I  suppose  the  old  nigger  and  you  and  I 
couldn't  patch  it  up  between  us?"  he  sug- 
gested at  last,  but  rather  doubtfully. 

"Not  'less  we  could  work  meracles,"  re- 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  129 

plied  young   Buzzy.     "  No,  that  wagon's  a 
goner." 

"  I'm  afraid  it  is,"  said  Dering. 

"  It  cert'n'y  is,"  affirmed  its  owner. 


XL 

Dering  remained  silent  after  Buzzy's  last 
remark.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  make 
any  suggestion  concerning  a  more  practical 
species  of  aid, — namely,  the  transference  of 
Buzzy  and  his  goods  and  chattels  to  their 
vehicle.  They  walked  back  to  the  carry-all 
in  silence. 

"  Can  you  do  anything  about  it  ?"  said 
Barbara. 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  replied  Dering,  sadly. 

Barbara  was  also  silent,  struggling  with  the 
same  distaste  which  had  tied  Dering's  tongue. 
Young  Buzzy  kept  a  steady  and  resigned  gaze 
upon  the  wagon,  still  thumbing  his  lean  arms. 
Finally  Barbara  said,  with  a  sort  of  burst, — 

"  Can't  we  give  you  a  lift  ?" 

"I  wuz  thinkin'  'bout  that,"  replied  the 
unfortunate.  "  I  cert'n'y  would  be  ub- 
bliged." 


130  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"What  will  you  do  with  your  horse?" 
here  suggested  Dering,  with  a  sudden  hope. 

Mr.  Buzzy  was  quite  prepared  for  this 
emergency.  "  I'll  give  the  little  darky  some- 
thin'  tuh  lead  him,"  he  replied,  adding,  with 
a  kind  of  tilt  in  Barbara's  direction,  "  With 
your  permission,  uv  co'se." 

"  Why,  certainly,"  she  answered. 

He  went  off  to  attend  to  this  little  trans- 
action, and  Barbara  and  Dering  clutched 
each  other's  hands  with  a  simultaneous  move- 
ment. 

"  Will  we  have  to  take  him  all  the  way  ?" 
said  Dering,  almost  tearfully. 

"  I'm  afraid  so,"  said  Barbara,  who  was 
entirely  tearful. 

There  was  a  lump  in  her  throat  that  made 
her  feel  as  though  she  had  swallowed  a  hot 
hard-boiled  eggf  shell  and  all,  and  it  had 
stuck  just  below  the  root  of  her  tongue. 
Their  hands  tightened,  they  cast  a  desperate 
glance  about:  young  Buzzy  was  again  ap- 
proaching them. 

"  It's  damnable !"  said  Dering,  with  per- 
haps pardonable  violence, — especially  as  he 
apologized  immediately  afterwards. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  131 

"No,  don't  apologize/'  urged  Barbara, 
hurriedly.    "  I  say  it's — it's  '  damnable'  too !" 

They  burst  out  laughing  just  as  Buzzy 
came  up. 

"We  were  laughing  at  my  poor  little  fol- 
lower's evident  fright  about  leading  your 
horse,"  explained  Barbara,  with  suave  men- 
dacity. 

"He  is  right  skeered,"  Mr.  Buzzy  ad- 
mitted, "  but  he'll  git  over  it.  '  Jinks'  always 
balks  at  firs', — '  Jinks'  my  hawse,  yuh  know. 
It's  mighty  kind  in  you  to  give  me  a  lif , 
Miss  Barb— I  mean  Missis  Pomfret.  Excuse 
me,  but  that  'Missis'  business  always  sticks 
in  my  throat  when  I  look  at  you.  You 
don't  look  a  day  older'n  you  did  when  we 
boys  an'  girls  used  tuh  dress  the  church  for 
Chris'mus " 

"  I  don't  want  to  hurry  you,  Mr.  Buzzy," 
here  interpolated  Dering,  "  but  Mrs.  Pom- 
fret  is  kindly  driving  me  to  Charlottesville 
to  catch  the  6.30  train,  and  I  wouldn't  like 
to  miss  it." 

"  Cert'n'y — cert'n'y,"  said  Mr.  Buzzy,  who 
still  hesitated,  however.  He  sidled  towards 
Unc'  Joshua  and   took  him  into  his  confi- 


132  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

dence  in  an  undertone.  "  Say,  Unc'  Josllua,,, 
—it  was  thus  that  he  expressed  himself, — 
"  's  there  any  room  fur  them  pertaters  V 
wine-saps  onder  the  seat  or  anywhere  ?  It'll 
mean  a  drink  in  Charlottesville,  yuh  know." 

While  he  and  Unc'  Joshua  arranged  this 
matter,  Barbara  and  Dering  again  devoured 
one  another's  rebellious  faces  with  hungry 
eyes.  All  at  once  Dering  stooped  and  pre- 
tended to  be  arranging  something  on  the  floor 
of  the  carry-all.  In  truth  he  was  pressing 
his  lips  rapidly,  first  against  Barbara's  gown, 
and  then  against  the  curve  of  her  instep. 

"  Oh,  don't !  don't !"  she  urged,  in  a  vehe- 
ment whisper.  "  My  horrid  boot !  Oh,  don't ! 
—Please  !" 

He  lifted  his  head,  a  little  flushed,  and 
looked  at  her  with  a  certain  brilliancy,  as  of 
one  who  has  been  drinking  wine.  At  the 
same  moment  Mr.  Buzzy  came  around  to  the 
other  side  of  the  carriage. 

"  If  you'll  excuse  me"  he  remarked,  "  I'll 
git  one  ur  two  pa'cels  'fore  we  start." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Barbara  again,  and 
again  Mr.  Buzzy  went  off  in  the  direction  of 
his  wagon.     He,  his  wine-saps  and  potatoes, 


TEE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  133 

being  safely  stowed  away,  they  started  towards 
Charlottesville,  stopped  every  now  and  then 
by  young  Walsingham's  appeals  for  help  re- 
garding the  recreant  Jinks,  who,  as  his  master 
had  said,  balked  sometimes.  Buzzy  himself 
was  inclined  to  be  talkative,  and  told  various 
anecdotes,  including  Unc'  Joshua  in  the  con- 
versation, with  great  geniality. 

"Name  of  a  dog,"  exclaimed  Dering,  in 
French,  "  this  is  atrocious  I" 

"  Name  of  a  blue  pig,  it  is  !"  replied  Bar- 
bara, gravely.     They  laughed  again. 

"  Yo're  laughin'  reminds  me,"  said  Mr. 
Buzzy,  "  of  a  story  my  ole  Unc'  Nelson  Cun- 
nin'ham  use'ter  tell."  And  forthwith  they 
were  regaled  with  one  of  the  extremely  long 
anecdotes  of  Mr.  Nelson  Cunniugham. 

"  Please  put  your  hand  on  my  knee  again, 
— -just  once,"  urged  Dering,  under  cover  of 
the  boisterous  hilarity  which  his  own  anec- 
dotal powers  had  called  forth  in  Mr.  Buzzy. 
"  I  won't  touch  it  if  you  tell  me  not  to."  He 
waited  anxiously,  and  was  presently  rewarded 
by  a  soft  clasp  upon  his  knee,  which  sent  such 
a  delightful  thrill  through  him  that  he  actually 
smiled  in  response  to  Mr.  Buzzy's  toothy  grin. 


134  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

"  That's  what  I  call  a  first-rater,"  announced 
the  latter,  appealing  afterwards  to  Unc' 
Joshua.     "  What  you  think,  Unc'  Joshua  ?" 

"  Fus'-rate,  suh, — -fus'-rate  !" 

"  Hyah  !  hyah !  Unc'  Joshua,  you  know  a 
good  story  when  you  hear  one — eh  ?" 

"  Yes,  suh  !     Hyah !  hyah  !" 

"Br-r-r!  I  wish  we  could  walk  the  rest 
of  the  way !"  said  Dering,  in  overwhelming 
disgust. 

"  It  is  dreadful/'  admitted  Barbara.  "  But 
here's  the  Long  Bridge.  We  are  nearly 
there." 

"  What  a  lovely  country  it  is !"  breathed 
Dering,  leaning  far  out  to  have  a  glimpse  of 
the  pretty  hills  that  hug  Charlottesville,  be- 
fore they  were  en-tunnelled  by  the  Long 
Bridge.  "  I  am  never  so  glad  that  I  am  a 
Southerner  as  when  I  drive  near  Charlottes- 
ville on  a  day  like  this." 

"Or  when  you  think  that  a  few  like  Mr. 
B.  are  your  compatriots,"  suggested  Barbara, 
who  was  so  bitterly  unhappy  that  she  felt 
like  indulging  in  wild  laughter.  As  the 
rumble  of  the  Long  Bridge  drowned  their 
voices,  they  could  talk  more  unrestrainedly. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  135 

"  You  were  so  good  to  come/'  said  Dering, 
to  whom  the  novelty  of  the  idea  made  this 
remark  seem  ever  novel. 

"I  wanted  to  come,"  answered  Barbara, 
who  found  no  monotony  in  this  reply. 

"  And  you  will  telegraph  if  you  need  me, — 
or — or — anything  ?" 

"Yes."   ' 

"  Promise." 

"Well." 

"  Say  you  promise." 

"  I  promise." 

He  got  his  arm  around  her :  for  an  instant 
she  breathed  difficultly  against  his  side ;  then 
they  rolled  out  again  into  the  faded  daylight. 

"  My  Unc'  Nelson  Cunnin'ham  use'ter  say 
he  had  eyes  in  the  skin  of  his  back,  like  a 
pertater,  when  he  sat  befo'  two  young  folks 
goin'  thoo'  a  tunnel,"  remarked  Mr.  Buzzy, 
jovially,  as  the  horses  struck  out  again  into  a 
round  trot.     "  Hyah  !  hyah  !" 

"  Hyah !  hyah  !"  chuckled  Unc'  Joshua. 

"  Beast !  I'd  like  to  choke  him !"  ejaculated 
Dering  between  his  teeth. 

"I  wish  you  would,"  said  Barbara,  who 
was  of  a  lively  flame-color. 


136  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"You  don't  seem  to  perriciate  my  re- 
marks?" here  put  in  Mr.  Buzzy,  to  whom 
this  twisting  of  words  constituted  a  form  of 
humor. 

"  I  don't  think  we  were  listening  at  the 
time  of  your  last  observation,"  said  Dering, 
grimly. 

"  I  said  my  Unc'  Nel " 

"  Good  gracious !  is  the  Rivanna  always  so 
swollen  at  this  time  of  the  year  ?"  asked  Bar- 
bara, looking  out." 

"  Pen's  on  th'  rains.    I  said  my  Unc' " 

"  The  rains  ?  But  then  it  always  rains  a 
good  deal  in  November,  doesn't  it  ?" 

"  Well,  right  smart,  gen'lly.  Unc'  Nelson 
said » 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  now,  of  course.  I 
wonder  if  any  one  could  swim  the  Rivanna  ?" 

"  I  done  it,  lars'  summer,"  announced 
Buzzy,  with  an  impressive  seriousness.  He 
twisted  about,  hanging  both  arms  over  the 
back  of  the  seat,  and  looking  down  at  that 
lazy  river  as  though  he  expected  from  it  some 
sign  of  recognition. 

"  You  must  be  a  very  good  swimmer." 

"Tolabul.     Torm  Cunnin'ham — my  Unc' 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  137 

Nelson  Cunnin'ham's  boy— kin  outswim  me, 
though.  That  boy  kin  swim  I— You  know 
him,  Unc'  Joshua?" 

"Sut'n'y,  suh,— sut'n'y,  sut'n'y.  Marse 
Torm  kin  swim  I" 

"You  mus'  remember  him,  Miss  Ba— 
excuse  me,  Missis  Pomfret,— don't  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Barbara,  vaguely.  It  was 
a  species  of  utter,  apathetic  misery  that  had 
seized  her.  They  had  now  entered  Charlottes- 
ville, and  the  drenched,  forsaken  village 
streets  were  beginning  to  depress  her  unutter- 
ably. 

"Drive  us  a  little  way  up  Park  Street, 
Uncle  Joshua,"  she  said,  and  leaned  back, 
looking  silently  about,  as  they  rolled  along 
this  charming  avenue,  which  is  not  unlike 
Lovers'  Lane  in  Newport. 

It  would  be  hard  to  decide  which  was  most 
miserable,  Barbara  or  Dering.  Buzzy's  pres- 
ence thrust  into  their  tete-a-tete  was  some- 
thing as  when  a  New-Orleans  masker  during 
Mardi-Gras  shoves  his  grotesque  self  between 
two  lovers  about  to  embrace.  Their  words 
choked  them,  and  they  not  only  saw  the 
actual   Buzzy,  but  had  exasperating  visions 


12* 


138  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

of  brother  and  sister  Buzzies,  with  his  home 
in  the  background, — a  home  whose  white- 
washed walls  bore  many  excrescences  in  the 
shape  of  old  photographs  framed  in  round 
walnut  frames,  whose  square  piano  was  cov- 
ered with  a  red-and-black-stampecl  woollen 
cover,  whose  sofa  was  of  green  reps  disgorging 
black  horse-hair,  and  whose  hall  was  carpeted 
with  oil-cloth  and  strewn  with  round  rush 
mats.  Besides,  it  was  impossible  to  get  rid 
of  him  :  he  had  at  once  announced  his  inten- 
tion of  "  sticking  by  them,"  to  see  Dering  off, 
and  to  provide  for  Barbara  when  he  should 
be  gone :  so  they  drove  to  the  station  still 
with  Buzzy  on  the  box-seat.  Barbara,  who 
had  a  nervous  and  uncontrollable  terror  of 
locomotives,  grasped  Dering's  hand  uncere- 
moniously as  they  neared  the  net-work  of 
tracks. 

"  Hyah  !  hyah !"  whispered  Buzzy,  whose 
shoulders  they  saw  move  hilariously. 

"Hyah!  hyah!"  echoed  Unc'  Joshua, 
huskily. 

They  got  out  of  the  carry-all  in  a  dumb 
but  violent  passion,  and  walked  together  to 
the  waiting-room. 


TEE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  139 

This  waiting-room  was  big  and  airy,  and 
when  they  entered  there  was  no  one  else  in 
possession.  Mr.  Buzzy  officiously  darted  off 
to  see  after  Dering's  luggage,  and  they  were 
at  last  free  to  indulge  in  conversation  without 
an  audience.  Unfortunately,  all  the  tumult- 
uous ideas  which  had  clamored  for  vent  in 
the  carry-all  seemed  now  to  have  followed 
hot  on  the  heels  of  the  vanished  Buzzy. 

"  I  wonder  if  that  clock's  right  ?"  ventured 
Dering. 

"Oh,  of  course,"  said  Barbara.  "They 
wouldn't  dare  have  it  wrong." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  he  admitted.  "  Then 
I've  got  three-quarters  of  an  hour." 

"  A  little  more  than  that.  Suppose  we  sit 
down  ?" 

"  Good  Lord !  what  an  oaf  I  am  !  You 
must  be  tired  to  death." 

They  sat  down,  after  Dering  had  made  an 
elaborate  arrangement  of  his  satchel  and 
overcoat. 

"  Thirty-nine  minutes  now,"  said  Barbara. 
"  Does  a  waiting-room  depress  you  as  it  does 
me?" 

"  I  don't  think  anything  could  be  worse." 


140  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  I  almost  wish  I  hadn't  come." 

"Don't  say  that!"  He  slipped  his  hand 
through  the  hollow  arm  of  the  seat,  and  took 
surreptitious  possession  of  her  now  ungloved 
fingers. 

"  Mind,"  she  whispered,  "  the  ticket-agent 
is  just  opposite." 

"  Disgusting !"  murmured  Dering.  They 
were  silent  for  a  second  or  two,  at  the  end  of 
which  time  he  took  a  small  object  from  his 
pocket  and  laid  it  in  her  lap. 

"  I  want  you  to  keep  that,"  he  said.  "  It's 
— it's  the  prayer-book  I  was  telling  you  of, — 
the  one,  you  know,  I  found  that  in, — about 
the  *  living,'  you  know.  Don't  shrink,  dar- 
ling." 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  sudden,  wild 
movement  that  caused  the  little  volume  to  slip 
on  the  floor  at  her  feet.  "  Oh,  I  am  so  un- 
happy !  I  am  so  unhappy !"  she  said,  giving 
him  her  clinched  hands,  and  withdrawing 
them  as  suddenly.  Both  stooped  together  to 
lift  the  fallen  prayer-book. 

"  Perhaps  this  will  help  you.  You  won't 
let  me  help  you,"  he  said,  despairingly.  She 
sank  back  between  the  iron  arms  of  her  chair, 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  141 

holding  the  book  against  her  breast,  and 
moving  her  lips  slightly  as  though  in  prayer. 
Dering  bent  down  his  head  near  her. 

"Say  something  for  me,"  he  whispered, 
shakenly. 

"  I  am ;  I  am.     It's  what  I'm  doing." 

"  God  keep  you,  my  pure  one,  my  true 
one !" 

"  Well,  ef  you  two  knew  the  trouble  I'd 
had  checkin'  yo'  thousand-and-one  trunks, 
suh,  you'd  take  up  a  subscription  for  me  right 
here  in  this  station-house !"  ejaculated  at  this 
juncture  the  voice  of  Mr.  Buzzy. 

Dering  looked  up  at  him  from  under  his 
lowered  brows  with  a  quietly  murderous  ex- 
pression ;  Barbara,  bending  over,  pretended 
to  be  tying  her  shoe. 

"How  many  of  them  cur'ous  boxes  have 
you  got,  anyhow  ?"  pursued  the  young  gen- 
tleman, entirely  unconscious.  He  wiped  his 
whole  face  and  the  spaces  behind  his  fat  ears 
with  a  large  purple-and-white  silk  handker- 
chief, regarding  the  fabric  afterwards  intently, 
and  then  crumpling  it  into  his  hat,  which  he 
replaced  on  his  head.  "  Why  don'  chu  char- 
ter a  cyar  'n'  chuck  yore  things  in  that? 


142  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

'T'ould  be  a  heap  less  trouble.  Well,  here 
yo'  checks." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Dering,  pocketing  them. 
"  I'm  sorry  you  had  so  much  trouble." 

"  Oh,  'twa'n't  any  reel  trouble,"  replied 
Buzzy,  genially.  "  I  was  jes'  gassin'.  Look 
hyuh :  wouldn't  you  like  somethin'  tuh  eat  ? 
— both  o'  you?  They've  got  a  reel  nice 
resterrant  hyuh." 

"Nothing, — nothing  at  all,  thank  you," 
replied  both,  hastily. 

"Not  a  cupper  coffee?  Some  tea,  then? 
They  have  firs'-rate  i'scream — sommer  that  ? 
Not  a  thing  f  Well,  Miss — a — Missis  Pom- 
fret  '11  die  'fore  she  gits  home :  you  may  git 
on  a  buffet  cyar.  Zemme  git  you  a  cujyper 
tea?" 

This  monologue  was  intersj^ersed  with  a 
series  of  "  No,  thank  yous,"  "  No,  thanks," 
from  Barbara  and  Dering.  Their  tormentor 
finally  desisted. 

"  Well,"  he  ejaculated  at  last,  "  think  I'll 
set  down." 

Barbara  and  Dering  looked  at  each  other 
with  eyes  that  groaned.  They  had  now  a 
scant  twenty  minutes. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  143 

"  Yo'  train's  due  in  twenty  minutes,"  said 
Mr.  Buzzy,  blithely.  "  Got  all  yo'  things 
together?" 

"  Yes,"  snapped  Dering. 

"  That's  right.  I  reckon  you're  right  use'ter 
travellin'.  Ben  all  over  Europe,  haven't 
yuh?" 

"  No." 

"  Excuse  me,  but  yuh  cert'n'y  look  hit." 

"  Did  you  say  my  train  was  due  in  twenty 
minutes  ?" 

"  Seventeen,  now." 

"  Would  you  mind  asking  if  it's  on  time  ?" 

"  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Buzzy.     "  Tis." 

Barbara  felt  as  though  she  could  not  stand 
it  another  moment.  Her  ears  sang,  and  she 
hated  Buzzy  in  a  way  that  astonished  herself. 
She  thought  that  she  would  almost  rejoice 
to  see  the  Express  that  was  to  bear  Dering 
from  her  roll  over  the  odoriferous  body  of  the 
other.  She  stood  up  to  her  full  height,  with 
a  quick,  gasping  breath,  and  then  sat  down 
again. 

"  Are  you  ill  ?"  said  Dering,  in  alarm. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Buzzy,  also 
scrambling  to  his  feet. 


144  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD  f 

"  Nothing.     I  was  crushing  my  dress." 

"  Ha !  that  !  "  laughed  Buzzy.  "  You  shot 
up  in  such  a  hurry  I  reckoned  yore  bustle 
must  have  springs  in  it !" 

"  Mr.  Buzzy,"  said  Dering,  in  elaborately 
slow  and  distinct  tones,  "  I  have  something 
of  importance  to  say  to  Mrs.  Pomfret,  and  I 
have  now  only  thirteen  minutes  in  which  to 
say  it.  Could  you  be  so  very  kind  as  to  leave 
us  together  ?" 

If  he  had  thought  to  freeze  Buzzy  by  this 
frigid  and  biting  address,  he  was  vastly  mis- 
taken. 

"  Cert'n'y, — cert'n'y,"  acquiesced  that  per- 
sonage at  once.  "Why  didn't  you  tip  me 
the  wink  ?  I'd  er  twigged.  Eeckon  I'll  go  'n' 
git  a  snack."     And  he  went. 

XII. 

"  Now !"  said  Dering,  looking  at  her.  His 
look  was  so  intense,  so  beseeching,  that  she 
imagined  herself  in  his  arms. 

"  My  heart  aches  so ! — it  aches  so !"  she 
said,  piteously.  Her  lip  began  to  quiver,  and 
she  turned  from  him,  having  that  wisdom 
which  teaches  a  woman  to  let  a  man  observe 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  145 

the  signs  of  her  grief  everywhere  save  in  her 
face.  She  did  not  want  Dering  to  carry  away 
a  picture  of  her  features  pursed  up  in  the 
ridiculous  distortions  of  real  sorrow. 

"  It  aches  so  I"  she  said,  again.  "  I  wish  I 
could  cut  it  out!"  She  ground  her  teeth  a 
little  savagely.  "I  suffer  too  much!"  she 
panted. 

Dering  came  close  to  her.  His  heart's  core 
yearned  over  her,  but  he  had  a  consciousness 
in  the  very  curls  on  the  back  of  his  head  that 
the  ticket-agent  was  regarding  them  interest- 
edly through  his  little  window. 

"  My  love, — my  heart's  heart, — what  can  I 
do  ?"  he  whispered.  "  What  can  I  say  ?  You 
will  let  me  write  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  in  a  choking  voice. 
It  hurt  her  to  think  that  he  had  considered 
not  writing  as  a  possibility.  The  big  railway- 
clock  ticked  on  pompously. 

"  Can't  you  stop  that  odious  thing  ?"  she 
asked,  and  then  began  to  laugh  hysterically. 

"Hush!"  said  Dering,  taking  her  upper 
arms  into  a  firm  grasp,  and  looking  at  her 
with  bright,  masterful  eyes.  "  This  has  been 
too  much  for  you,"  he  said,  regretfully,  as 

13 


146  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

they  sat  down  again.  "It  wouldn't  have 
been  if  that  gr-r-r —  that  bad-smelling 
scoundrel  hadn't " 

Here  Barbara  began  to  laugh  again:  he 
tried  to  silence  her  as  before,  and  ended  by 
joining  in. 

"  Oh,  how  ghastly  it  all  is !"  she  exclaimed, 
finally,  as,  their  paroxysm  over,  she  began 
to  wipe  her  eyes  with  little  sideward  sweeps 
of  the  different  hems  of  her  pocket-hand- 
kerchief. Then,  with  a  violent  start,  "  Oh ! 
is  he  coming  again?  I  thought  I  heard 
him." 

"  If  he  does,  there'll  be  one  Buzzy  less  in 
his  apparently  prolific  family,"  replied  Dering, 
grimly. 

"  Well,  never  mind  him.  Say  something  to 
me  that  I  can  remember, — something  gentle. 
Oh,  God  !  I  am  so  wretched !" 

"  Listen,  then.  I  love  you, — I  love  you, — 
I  love  you." 

"Hush!  be  careful!  Thank  you.  Oh, 
you  are  so  good ! — Oh  !  look  at  that  horrible 
baby !" 

"  Gir-r-r !  Why  did  you  call  my  attention 
to  it?" 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  147 

"  But  it  is  so  hideous.  It  fascinates  me. 
Look  !  look  !  Why,  its  head  wobbles  about 
just  like  <  She's'  !" 

"Isn't  that  rather  ungrammatical ?"  he 
asked,    making   the   national    joke   then   in 


vogue. 


"  And  its  hands ! — they  are  all  creased,  as 
if  they  had  been  washed  and  rough-dried 
and  never  ironed  out.  Isn't  that  little,  blue- 
worsted  cap  it  has  on,  awful  ?  I  suppose  that 
woman  is  its  mother.  Look  at  her  poking  it 
under  the  chin!  How  can  she!  Oh!  it's 
blowing  bubbles  out  of  its  mouth.  Oh,  how 
awful!  Can't  we  get  away  from  it? — any- 
where!— anywhere!  Let's  go  out  on  the 
platform." 

She  dragged  him  out  just  in  time  to  see  his 
train  come  in.  As  it  clanked  by,  she  lifted 
her  great,  wretched  eyes,  heavy  with  shadows, 
full  to  his. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  ten  hearts,"  she  said, 
"  each  too  big  for  me,  and  as  if  every  time 
those  heavy  wheels  turned  over  they  crushed 
one." 

"  Darling !"  was  all  that  he  could  answer, 
in  a  tone  of  entreaty. 


148  THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD? 

"  Will  you  write  from  Washington  ?" 
"  This  very  night.     I'll  write  on  the  train 
and   post   it   when   we   get   to   Washington. 
Barbara  ?" 

"  Yes.     What  is  it  ?     What  is  it  ?" 
"  Do  you — love  me — just  a  little  ?" 
"  You  know  I  do.     It  is  different,  but  I 
do.     Dearly, — dearly." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  different'  ?" 
"I    don't    know.      I'll   write    it    to   you. 
Don't  let  those  men  run  so  near  you  with 
those  great  trucks :  it  makes  me  nervous." 
"  Then  you  will  write  to  me  ?" 
"Yes.     They  will  be  very  stupid  letters, 
though.     There  isn't  anything  to  write  about 
here." 

"  You  silly  dear !"  Barbara  winced.  "  As 
if  I  wanted  to  hear  about  anything  but  your- 
self!    You'll  put  that  in  sometimes,  won't 

you  ?     And  you'll " 

"  I  reckon  you'd  better  be  gittin'  yo'  things 
together,"  broke  in  Mr.  Buzzy,  who  here 
came  towards  them,  nibbling  the  end  of  a 
chicken- wing.  "Excuse  me,  but  this  fried 
chick'n's  too  good  tuh  let  slide.  I'll  take  yo' 
satchel,  suh." 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  149 

"Thanks,"  said  Dering.  He  turned  and 
grasped  Barbara's  hands  once  more,  as  Buzzy 
disappeared  into  the  sleeper.  They  both  tried 
to  speak,  swallowed,  and  murmured  some  in- 
distinct words,  which  were  drowned  in  the 
noise  of  a  passing  truck.  The  locomotive 
gave  a  series  of  hoarse,  barking  whistles,  and 
the  bell  began  to  clang  slowly,  while  the 
jarring  "  jink-jank"  of  a  train  about  to  move 
off  passed  through  the  whole  fabric.  Dering 
loosed  her  hands,  clutched  them  once  more, 
gave  her  a  heart-broken  look,  and  plunged 
into  the  Pullman,  just  as  Mr.  Buzzy  swung 
staggering  off  on  the  platform.  Barbara  had 
withdrawn  at  once  into  the  waiting-room,  and 
was  busy  gathering  up  her  muff  and  um- 
brella, when  Buzzy  rejoined  her. 

"  I  say,  now,"  he  began,  in  a  cajoling  tone, 
"  come  'n'  have  a  little  snack.  The  coffee's 
jes'  ez  hot  V  good.     Will  you?" 

"Thank  you,  I'm  not  at  all  hungry," 
stammered  poor  Barbara.  The  spell  of  the 
horrible  waiting-room  was  upon  her,  and  she 
could  not  imagine  how  happiness  ever  came 
to  human  beings  who  lived  in  a  world  in- 
habited  also   by  locomotives,  negro  porters, 

13* 


150  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

and  young  men  of  Buzzy's  ilk.  She  stared 
at  him  absently  with  her  wide,  beautiful  eyes, 
twisting  the  folds  of  her  umbrella  tighter  and 
tighter  in  her  strong,  ungloved  hands. 

"  I'm  not  at  all  hungry,"  she  said,  again. 

"  Some  wine,  then,"  he  urged.  "  You  look 
mighty  pale.  Virginia  claret's  firs'-rate, — 
mil?" 

"  I'm  not  thirsty ;  thank  you  very  much.' 

"Well,  but jes'  fuh  med'cine  —  mh ?" 

"  I  don't  want  anything.  I  don't  want  any 
wine,  thank  you,  Mr.  Buzzy." 

Buzzy  rubbed  one  of  his  lemon-colored 
eyebrows  with  a  contemplative  and  dubious 
thumb. 

"  Uv  co'se,  ef  you're  bent  on  it,"  he  said. 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Barbara,  vaguely. 

When  she  got  into  the  cab  which  he  had 
ordered  for  her,  he  stepped  in  also. 

"  Jes'  drive  with  you  to  th'  liv'ry-stable  V 
see  you  in  yore  own  cay'idge,"  he  explained. 
"  Unc'  Joshua  took  his  horses  there  tuh  feed 
'm,  uv  co'se." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Barbara. 

"  Cert'n'y  has  got  dark  sudden,"  he  ex- 
claimed, in  another  tone,  peering  up  at  the 


THE   QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  151 

dim    sky,    first   through   one    window,    then 
through  the  other. 

"  Very,"  said  Barbara. 
"  Choh'tt'sville  ain't  lighted  's  well  's  might 
be,— is  it  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Barbara.  A  droll  sort 
of  parody  on  a  celebrated  saying  began  to 
drum  regularly  in  her  ears.  She  repeated  it 
over  and  over :  "  Some  are  born  with  neigh- 
bors, some  achieve  neighbors,  and  some  have 
neighbors  thrust  upon  them."  She  was  be- 
ginning to  think  that  Buzzy  meant  to  drive 
all  the  way  back  to  Kosemary  with  her.  His 
monotonous  voice  interrupted  her  revery : 

"  Wonder  why  yo'  frien'  was  so  set  on  takin' 
that  p'tic'lar  train  ?" 

"  He  wanted  to  be  in  New  York  to-morrow.,, 
"  Well,  he  could  V  taken  th'  7.30  jes'  's 
well." 

"  What  7.30?"  said  Barbara,  excitedly. 
"Why,  the  7.30  Express." 
She  looked  at  him,  feeling  a  quiver  run 
through  her, — a  thrill  of  indignation  and  dis- 
appointment. "Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
there  is  another  train  that  goes  at  7.30  ?"  she 
said,  in  a  very  low  voice. 


152  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  Why,  cert'n'y,"  replied  Mr.  Buzzy.  He 
took  off  his  hat,  regarded  the  purple-and- 
white  material  with  which  it  was  brimming 
over,  and  then,  as  if  undecided,  placed  hat 
and  contents  between  his  knees. 

"  Did  you  mention  that  to  Mr.  Dering  ?" 
questioned  the  low  voice. 

"  Never  thought  tuh.  Thought  he  knew, 
uv'  co'se.  Hyuh  we  are !"  And  he  bounded 
out  through  the  carriage  door,  which  only 
opened  after  vigorous  batterings  of  his  knee. 
He  appeared  almost  simultaneously  at  the 
other  door,  through  which  he  thrust  his  af- 
fable visage. 

"'S  all  right,"  he  announced.  "Unc' 
Joshua's  all  ready, — jes'  gotter  light  th'  can- 
dles.    Mr.  Payne'll  attend  tuh  them." 

She  leaned  back  in  apathetic  silence,  after 
another  dreary  "Thank  you,"  and  watched 
Mr.  Payne's  stalwart  figure  in  its  shiny  oil- 
cloth cloak,  which  reflected  back  the  white- 
gray  sky  in  a  faint  glisten.  A  swift,  pattering 
rain  was  falling,  although  through  the  fleecy 
clouds  the  light  of  a  full  but  unseen  moon 
filtered  wanly.  "  I  don't  b'leeve  you'll  need 
no  candles,"  said  Mr.  Buzzy,  turning'  around 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  153 

and  around,  and  regarding  the  dripping  sky 
with  face  and  hands  uplifted.  Mr.  Payne 
put  those  articles  in,  however,  and  Unc 
Joshua  drove  off,  after  Barbara  had  thanked 
both  men  for  their  service. 

"Oh,  it  don't  make  a  dit  0'  Difference  I" 
exclaimed  the  jovial  Buzzy  in  return,  having 
recourse  to  one  of  his  contorted  combinations 
of  words. 

Barbara,  rolling  along  with  closed  eyes 
over  the  rough  and  night-veiled  roads  that 
led  from  Charlottesville  to  Rosemary,  tried  to 
imagine  what  Dering  was  then  doing.  She 
fancied  him  asking  the  porter  some  trivial 
question,  raising  his  voice  a  little  in  order  to 
be  heard  above  the  incessant  clinking  of  sur- 
rounding objects.  Then  he  took  out  a  memo- 
randum-book and  a  pencil.  He  began  his 
letter  to  her.  She  tried  to  fancy  the  first 
words  as  they  would  look  when  written,  but 
she  saw  so  many  terms  of  endearment  that 
she  was  undecided.  Her  imagination  was 
disturbed  by  visions  of  the  omnipresent  and 
always  thirsty  child  who  traverses  the  aisles 
of  Pullman  sleeping-cars  in  the  direction  of 
the   water-cooler,   followed    by   an    anxious 


151  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

nurse-maid  attached  to  the  end  of  its  petti- 
coat. This  child  had,  in  her  imagination, 
flaxen  hair  which  was  begrimed  with  cinders, 
and  a  corresponding  complexion.  It  drank 
water  incessantly,  spilling  it  copiously  over 
its  fat,  chapped  chin,  and  when  it  was  not 
drinking  water  it  was  gnawing  a  large  drum- 
stick of  chicken  or  munching  huge  pieces  of 
gingerbread. 

There  was  the  semi-invalid,  who  had  gone 
to  sleep  with  her  head  on  a  soot-streaked  pil- 
low. There  was  the  drummer,  who  had  also 
gone  to  sleep  in  a  quilted  travelling-cap,  with 
a  fat  hand,  ornamented  by  a  large  blood- 
stone ring,  displayed  upon  his  gay  trousers. 
There  was  the  young  demoiselle  with  abun- 
dant curls  and  giggles,  who  was  travelling 
alone  under  charge  of  the  conductor,  and  to 
whom  the  conductor  was  now  addressing  a 
series  of  facetious  remarks.  There  was  the 
section  full  of  young  men  and  women  who 
talked  in  such  loud,  boisterous  tones  that 
their  conversation  could  be  heard  above 
everything  else.  There  was  the  fat  woman 
who  was  forever  putting  things  in  her  satchel 
and  taking  them  out;  the  two  middle-aged 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  155 

discussers  of  politics ;  the She  opened 

her  eyes  and  leaned  forward,  far  into  the  raw, 
mist-laden  air.  The  hills  were  a  blurred  out- 
line, the  fields  masses  of  rich  gloom.  She 
had  one  thing,  at  all  events,  to  be  thankful 
for:  she  was  not  in  a  Pullman  sleeping- 
car. 

Unc,  Joshua  had  to  lift  her  bodily  out  of 
the  carriage  in  his  strong  arms  when  they 
reached  Rosemary.  He  and  Barneses  almost 
carried  her  up-stairs  to  her  bedroom,  where  a 
blithe  fire  was  blazing  and  a  pretty  tea-table 
drawn  up  before  its  glow.  Martha  Ellen,  on 
turning  to  greet  her  mistress  with  a  pleased 
smile,  was  horrified  to  see  her  cast  herself  on 
her  knees  before  the  big  chintz-covered  chair 
and  break  into  wild  sobbing. 

"  Lor !  Miss  Barb'ra !  Lor !  Miss  Barb'ra, 
chile  !  Lor  !  honey  !"  she  ejaculated,  at  in- 
tervals. "  Miss  Barb'ra, — my  own  Miss  Bar- 
b'ra,— don'  cry  so  !  Don',  honey  !  Lemme 
go  fur  Sarah.     I'm  goin'  fur  Sarah." 

She  flew  on  nimble  feet,  and  returned  with 
this  Sarah,  who  was  a  little,  delicate,  thin 
woman  of  about  forty,  possessing  a  face  as 
keen  and  sweet  as  it  was  plain.     She  wore 


156  THE   QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

her  black  wool  in  neat  masses  pinned  close  to 
her  head,  and  her  small  figure  in  its  close 
black  gown  resembled  an  exclamation-point, 
so  slight  and  decided  was  it. 

Though  so  diminutive,  she  was  apparently- 
very  strong,  for  she  stooped  and  lifted  Bar- 
bara from  where  she  was  kneeling,  and  took 
her  on  her  breast.  She  said  nothing,  merely 
motioning  Rameses  to  leave  them,  by  a  certain 
movement  of  her  head.  Then  she  began  to 
rock  herself  to  and  fro,  with  a  gentle,  croon- 
ing sound,  such  as  women  make  over  ailing 
babies,  stroking  the  lovely,  copper-colored 
head  on  her  breast  from  time  to  time  with 
her  tender,  dark  fingers,  sometimes  pressing 
a  dusky  cheek  against  its  bright  lustre,  some- 
times reaching  up  furtively  to  dash  the  tears 
from  her  own  eyes. 

After  a  while  she  coaxed  her  mistress  to  lie 
on  the  sofa,  while  she  prepared  a  warm  bath 
for  her,  moving  about  the  room  with  noiseless 
swiftness,  her  very  skirts  having  a  subdued 
sound,  which  was  to  the  noise  made  by  the 
skirts  of  other  women  as  a  whisper  is  to 
laughter.  The  room  was  soon  fragrant  with 
the  attar  of  roses  which  she  had  shaken  into 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  157 

the  tepid  water  until  it  was  milky,  and  she 
then  arranged  some  fine  linen  garments  on 
the  bed,  and  leaned  over  her  mistress,  saying, 
in  a  delicious  guttural, — 

"  Miss  Barb'ra,  darlin',  yo'  barth's  ready. 
I'll  go  out  in  th'  hall  till  you  call  me." 

In  reply,  Barbara  reached  up  her  arms  and 
drew  down  the  small,  woolly  head  against 
her  shoulder. 

"  Oh,"  she  sighed,  "  I  am  so  miserable !  I 
am  so  miserable !  I  am  so  miserable !" 

"  Yes,  yes,  darlin'  Miss  Barb'ra,  but  joy 
comes  in  th'  morninV 

"  Oh,  but  when  will  it  be  morning  ?  Com- 
fort me,  Sarah !  Sarah,  can't  you  comfort 
me?  I  comforted  you  that  time  when  you 
were  so  unhappy.     Didn't  I  ?     Didn't  I  ?" 

"Th'  dear  Lord  he  knows  you  did,  Miss 
Barb'ra.  I'll  never  forget  you, — no,  not 
whiles  I  lives, — no,  not  when  I'm  dead.  I'd 
come  to  you  out  er  my  grave  ef  you  called 
for  me." 

"  Don't  talk  of  graves !— talk  of  life,— life, 

— life!     Oh,  Sarah,   isn't    death   a   dreadful 

thought?     Isn't  it  awful?     Don't  you  wish 

we  could  just  disappear, — just   be   snatched 

14 


158  THE    QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

away  somewhere,  and  nothing  be  left  of  us  ? 
Oh,  I  am  so  unhappy  !  Comfort  me !  Com- 
fort me !  Can't  you  think  of  anything  that 
will  comfort  me  ?" 

"Think  of  how  good  you  are,  darlin'. 
That  ought  tuh  comfut  you.  Think  how 
ev'ybody  loves  you, — embody,  Miss  Barb'ra, 
down  to  my  po'  little  girl,  that  you  has  done 
so  much  for.  She  thinks  they  am'  nobody 
like  Miss  Barb'ra.  She  says  a  little  prayer 
for  you  ev'y  night.  Think  of  all  the  good 
you  has  done.  Think  of  how  good  an'  sweet 
an'  kin'  you  are,  all  the  time,  to  ey'ybody. 
Oh,  Miss  Barb'ra,  darlin'  Miss  Barb'ra,  you 
oughtn'  tuh  be  unhappy  !  Now  take  yo'  nice, 
warm  barth,  an'  then  you'll  feel  so  much 
better.  I  put  so  much  scent  in  it,  th'  whole 
room  smells  jes'  like  summer-time.  Come  on  : 
yo'  pretty  little  night-gown's  all  ready,  an'  th' 
white  furs  all  spread  out  fur  you  tuh  stan'  on. 
Come  on,  Miss  Barb'ra.  Let  Sarah  help  you 
up.  Think  of  how  embody  loves  you, — th' 
farm-han's  and  ev'ybody." 

"Do  they  really  love  me,  Sarah?"  asked 
the  girl,  in  the  childish  tone  and  manner  that 
always  accompanies  absolute  misery.     "  It  is 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  159 

good  to  be  loved  :  isn't  it,  Sarah  ?  It  helped 
you  that  time  for  me  to  love  you  :  didn't  it  ? 
I'm  glad  they  love  me."  Then,  as  Sarah  was 
about  to  leave  the  room,  "  Put  your  arms 
around  me  once  more.  Hold  me  tight, — 
tight, — tighter  still :  I  don't  care  if  it  hurts. 
You  love  me, — don't  you,  Sarah  ?" 

"  Th'  dear  Saviour  in  heaven  he  knows  I 
does,  Miss  Barb'ra." 

"And  you  think  I'll  be  happy  some  day?" 

"  Miss  Barb'ra,  I  knows  you  will, — I  knows 
you  will." 

"  And  will  you  pray  about  it  ?" 

"I  duz  pray  about  it,  darlin'  Miss  Bar- 
b'ra. They  ain't  no  time,  night  or  day,  when 
I  prays,  that  I  don't  pray  'bout  you.  Now 
take  yo'  barth,  'fore  it  gets  cold." 

She  went  out,  closing  the  door,  which  Bar- 
bara opened  almost  immediately  afterwards. 

«  Sarah " 

"Yes'm?" 

"  Sarah,  come  here  just  one  minute.  Just 
hold  me  again  one  minute,  and  say  you  think 
I'll  be  happy." 

The  little  woman  clasped  the  beautiful  figure 
with  fervent,  sinewy  brown  arms. 


160  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"I  knows  you  will!"  she  reiterated.  "I 
knows  you  will !" 

"  And  you  love  me  ?" 

"  Miss  Barb'ra,  the  good  Lord  himself  will 
have  to  make  you  unclerstan'  that.  I  can't 
seem  to  do  it.     Darlin?  Miss  Barb'ra  I" 

When,  having  taken  her  fragrant  bath, 
Barbara  lay  like  some  sweet-smelling  flower 
between  the  fine  sheets  of  her  girlhood's  bed, 
Sarah,  kneeling  beside  her  in  the  firelight, 
stroked  gently  and  unceasingly  the  languid, 
half-bare  arm  nearest  her. 

"  That's  so  good !  that's  so  good !"  mur- 
mured the  girl,  in  a  tired  voice.  Suddenly 
she  roused  herself. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot !  Look  on  the  table,  Sarah, 
and  hand  me  that  little  book, — the  one  with 
the  cross  on  it.  There ;  no, — a  little  farther 
to  the  end.  There,  that's  it."  She  took  it 
eagerly,  and,  while  slipping  it  under  her 
pillow,  kissed  it  furtively. 

"  Bub  my  arm  some  more,  Sarah."  In 
another  moment  she  started  up  again. 
"  Sarah,  bring  the  candle.  I'm  going  to 
choose  a  verse.  You  open  it.  What's  your 
finger  on  ?     Read  it." 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  161 

Sarah  read  slowly,  in  her  uncertain,  soft 
tone,  and  with  her  earnest  face  close  to  the 
fine  print.  It  is  quite  true  that  the  little 
colored  woman  read  the  following  words  to 
that  beautiful,  distracted,  quivering,  yearning 
creature  in  the  bed  beside  her, — read  these 
words : 

"  For  in  death  no  man  remembereth  thee, 
and  who " 

"  That  will  do,— that  will  do,  Sarah.  Put 
out  the  candle." 

As  the  warm  dusk  of  the  firelight  again 
encompassed  them,  she  reached  out  and  drew 
Sarah  to  her  with  both  arms. 

"  You  don't  know  why,  dear,  but  that  was 
a  message  to  me.  Perhaps — I — may — be— 
happy — again." 

"  Miss  Barb'ra,  I  knows  you  will !" 
^  "Well,   good-night,   little   Sarah.      Don't 
forget  to  say  that  prayer.     Will  you  rub  my 
other  arm  a  little  longer  ?" 

XIII. 

It  is  true  that  Dering  had  made  an  attempt 
to  write  while  on  the  train,  as  he  had  prom- 
ised, but  it  is  also  true  that  he  was  obliged 

14* 


162  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

to  abandon  the  idea,  since  his  chirography, 
at  no  time  good,  was  rendered  entirely  un- 
decipherable by  the  motion  of  the  car.  He 
replaced  note-book  and  pencil,  and  gave  him- 
self up  to  contemplation  of  the  flying  land- 
scape. It  was  dreary,  colorless,  monotonous. 
The  ragged  negroes  and  vehicles  at  the  tumble- 
down stations  depressed  him.  One  horrible, 
legless  old  woman,  huddled  in  what  appeared 
to  be  a  very  large,  wooden  bread-trough,  was 
made  radiant  by  all  the  loose  silver  in  his 
pockets;  and  she  called  on  heaven  to  bless 
him  until  the  train  was  out  of  hearing-dis- 
tance. As  it  grew  darker,  the  squares  of 
light  from  the  car-windows,  flitting  up  and 
down  on  the  uneven  ground,  made  him  dizzy. 
He  drew  down  the  curtain,  and  leaned  back 
against  the  window-frame,  closing  his  eyes. 
The  horrible,  jarring  din  about  him  actually 
interfered  with  his  thoughts,  so  that  he  could 
scarcely  recall  Barbara's  face  as  he  had  last 
seen  it,  sallow  and  pinched  with  grief;  but  he 
remembered  finally,  with  a  species  of  incre- 
dulity, that  it  had  been  lovely  in  spite  of  its 
yellowish  tone  and  the  great  shadows  under 
her  eyes.     How  she  had  looked  at  him  that 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  1(53 

last  second  !     His  heart  gave  a  hot  leap  along 
his  breast  to  his  throat,  leaving  a  fiery  track 
behind  it  as  of  sparks.     He  tried  to  fancy 
her  beside  him  :  they  were  married ;  her  wrap 
and  umbrella  were  on  the  opposite  seat ;  she 
had  put  her  feet  up  beside  his:    he  could 
fancy  the  very  lights  that  would  sparkle  01 
her  smart  varnished  boots.     She  would  pr  - 
tend  to  read :  he  fancied  she  would  not  ts  k 
much  to  him :  in  fact,  people  would  tlr  ik 
they    were    rather   bored   with   each    other. 
Then  he  would  call  her  attention  to  some 
passing  object,  and,  as  she  leaned  across  him 
to  look,  he  would  kiss  the  great  knot  of  her 
sea-smelling   hair.     That   would    thrill   her 
with  an  exquisitely  delicate  sense  of  loving 
and  being  loved :  she  would  give  the  subtle, 
cowering   shiver   that   he   remembered,  and 
press  slightly  against  him  as  she  leaned  back 
with  an  expression  more  coldly  bored  and  in- 
different than  ever.     It  suddenly  swept  over 
him  that  with  each  abominable  rattle  of  that 
noisy  train  he  was  being  whirled  farther  and 
farther  away  from  all  those  delicate  charms. 
What  if  she  were  to  be  ill  ? — to  need  him  ? 
What  if  she  were  ill  at  this  very  moment  ? 


164  THE  QUICK  OR    THE  DEAD? 

What  if  the  mettlesome  steeds  of  Unc'  Joshua 
were  dashing  in  a  mad  run  over  those  wretch- 
edly rough  roads  ?  He  could  fancy  her  lying 
senseless  in  that  thick  gloom,  with  just  a  thin 
stream  of  blood  from  her  temple  shining  out 
vividly.  A  cold  sweat  broke  out  on  his  own 
forehead. 

"  How  far  are  we  from  Washington  ?"  he 
asked  the  porter,  who  passed  by  at  that  mo- 
ment. 

"  Be  'n  Eleksandria  'n  'bout  fift'  minutes," 
replied  the  man,  making  quick  flourishes  over 
the  back  and  arms  of  the  opposite  seat  with  a 
large  feather  duster. 

"  Thanks/'  said  Dering. 

"  Kin  I  git  yah  anything,  suh  ?"  asked  the 
porter,  in  tones  which  meant,  "  Won't  you 
give  me  something  ?"  but  which  Dering  was 
too  worried  and  restless  to  notice. 

"  No,  thanks,"  he  said,  shortly,  and  then, 
as  the  man  lingered,  thrust  his  head  under  the 
still  lowered  curtain  and  kept  it  there  until 
the  porter  had  disappeared. 

When  they  reached  Washington,  he  took 
a  hansom  and  drove  directly  to  Wormley's, 
where  the  first  thing  he  asked  for,  after  secur- 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  165 

ing  a  room,  was  pen  and  paper.  He  got  so 
nervous,  however,  after  lie  had  written  ten 
lines  that  he  pushed  everything  aside,  and, 
summoning  a  waiter,  ordered  another  hansom 
to  be  called  in  an  hour.  This  interval  he 
devoted  chiefly  to  a  cold  bath,  which  braced 
him  up  a  good  deal,  and  to  an  excellent  din- 
ner. He  then  plunged  into  the  cab,  after  the 
impetuous  fashion  which  distinguished  him, 
ordering  the  bewildered  cabby  to  drive  "Any- 
where." 

"  Anywhere,  sir  ?  How,  sir  ?  How  long, 
sir?" 

"  Till  I  tell  you  to  stop." 

"  All  right,  sir.  Cert'n'y,  sir.  Ten  o'clock, 
sir.     Dollar  an  hour,  sir." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  is," — grumpily.  "  And  if 
you  try  to  beat  me  for  more,  you'll  regret  it." 

"  Yessir.     All  right,  sir." 

Off  they  started,  —  clatter-clack,  clatter- 
clack,  b-r-r-r-r-r,  clatter-clack,  clatter-clack, 
clatter-clack,  b-r-r-r-r-r-r, — that  inimitable 
sound  of  wheels  and  horses'  feet  on  the 
asphalt  which  Dering  usually  found  so  de- 
lightful. To-night  it  put  him  in  a  species 
of  fever,  and  he  sat  with  his  shoulders  drawn 


166  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

up  in  a  rebelliously  surly  attitude.  It  seemed 
incomprehensible  and  unnatural  that  scarce 
one  hundred  miles  away  the  same  soft  rain 
was  falling  on  those  muddy  Albemarle  roads, 
blurring  the  graceful  outline  of  the  hills,  and 
frosting  Barbara's  window-panes.  Here,  in 
the  biting  glare  of  electric  lights,  the  heavy 
foliage  of  the  trees  took  on  a  theatrical  seem- 
ing; they  appeared  like  shapes  cut  out  of 
dingy  green  card-board.  The  figures  of  hur- 
rying pedestrians  reflected  downward  in  the 
rain-washed  pavements,  and  the  similarly  re- 
produced cabs  with  their  steaming  horses,  re- 
minded him  of  clever  Indian-ink  sketches  by 
French  artists.  Was  it  possible  that  only  a 
few  hours  ago  Unc'  Joshua  had  been  driving 
him  along  a  primitive  Virginian  turnpike,  with 
Mr.  Buzzy  ensconced  upon  the  front  seat? 
His  whole  life  of  the  past  few  months  looked 
unreal  to  him  in  this  winking,  blue-white 
glare.  He  could  not  analyze  any  of  the  feel- 
ings that  tormented  him,  being  only  conscious 
of  a  fierce  lack,  which  once  or  twice  deceived 
him  into  thinking  that  he  was  physically 
hungry.  In  the  midst  of  these  soaked  and 
thronging   streets,  he  was   beset  by  an   in- 


THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD?  137 

tolerable  sense  of  unimportance ;  he  had  no 
acquaintances  in  Washington,  and  knew  very 
little  of  the  town  itself,  else  he  would  have 
sought  out  some  person,  congenial  or  other- 
wise, with  whom  to  pass  those  dreary  hours 
of  enforced  waiting. 

He  roused  suddenly  and  glanced  about 
him.  They  were  passing  the  White  House, 
which  looked  in  the  electric  waver  like  a 
large  Christmas-card  ornamented  with  mica 
and  with  windows  of  isinglass  behind  which 
lighted  candles  were  being  held.  Broken 
gusts  of  chatter  and  music  alternated  with 
the  patter  of  the  horses'  feet  and  the  rumble 
of  wheels ;  the  trees  more  than  ever  resem- 
bled those  of  the  foot-light  Arcadia,  and 
through  the  pale  sky  overhead  a  glittering 
dust  seemed  sifting,  as  though  through  a 
great  sieve.  He  was  depressed  without  know- 
ing why ;  the  very  brightness  and  diversity 
of  the  passing  scene  filled  him  with  a  sense 
of  gloom  ;  and  it  was  not  until  he  had  stopped 
the  cab  a  moment,  to  bestow  five  dollars  on  a 
hunchbacked  lad,  that  his  spirits  rose  at  all. 
These  acts  of  unguided  and  munificent  charity 
were  one  of  Dering's  panaceas   against   the 


168  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

blues :  he  found  it  cheering  to  remember  the 
amazed  expressions  of  gratitude,  both  facial 
and  vocal,  that  were  turned  upon  him. 

When  he  reached  his  hotel  again,  he  once 
more  attacked  the  promised  letter  to  Barbara. 
This  was  very  up-hill  work,  as  he  did  not 
know  what  manner  of  missive  she  expected 
from  him,  and  was,  moreover,  wholly  unused 
to  writing  love-letters.  To  begin  it  was  im- 
possible. "My  dear  Barbara"  looked  too 
cold  and  unnatural.  "My  darling"  was, 
under  the  circumstances,  out  of  the  question. 
He  compromised  by  starting  off  abruptly: 
"  Have  just  arrived  in  Washington,  and  find 
I  cannot  leave  until  9.15  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." Here  he  stopped  and  began  to  walk 
up  and  down  the  room,  which  was  a  large  one 
and  adapted  to  this  caged-beast  order  of  ex- 
ercise. It  struck  him  that  thus  for  his  letter 
was  too  telegraphic  both  in  style  and  matter, 
and  at  the  same  time  a  brilliant  idea,  occurred 
to  him.  Why  not  telegraph,  merely,  from 
Washington,  and  write  from  New  York? 
He  put  this  plan  into  execution  at  once,  and 
on  the  next  morning  Barbara  received  the 
following  message,  which  had  originally  been 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  169 

written  in  French,  but  which,  owing  to  the 
intricacies  of  Dering's  handwriting  and  to 
certain  deficiencies  in  the  education  of  the 
telegraph  operator,  reached  her  in  the  state 
below  recorded : 

"Se  malhoornse  ma  faib  tellemnt  de  mal 
que  jetait  malade  pouvair  pat  ecrire.  Pe 
regrettig  pat  lee  passe,  ilyu  trap  di  futilite, 
Rodedens.     Toujooe  at  voue." 

(No  signature.) 

She  had  been  in  such  a  nervous  state  all 
day,  expecting  momentarily  the  advent  of 
that  promised  and  lengthy  bulletin,  that  the 
effect  of  this  unparalleled  billet-doux  was  to 
throw  her  into  fits  of  genuine  if  somewhat 
frantic  laughter.  She  screamed  with  merri- 
ment until  large  tears  rolled  down  her  face 
and  blotted  the  slip  of  yellow  paper  in  her 
hand ;  then,  the  first  sense  of  humor  having 
passed,  she  became  conscious  of  a  keen  disap- 
pointment. She  could  not  possibly  hope  for 
a  letter  until  three  days  had  passed,  and  in 
the  mean  time  her  only  solace  would  be  that 
mangled  message  on  her  lap.     She  gave  the 

15 


170  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

hopeless  and  helpless  sigh  of  a  woman  who 
feels  that  she  could  make  better  love  than  her 
lover,  and  threw  herself  back  among  the 
white  furs  on  her  sofa,  trying  to  imagine  the 
words  that  he  would  say  to  her,  rather  than 
those  which  he  would  write. 

XIV. 

Dering  in  the  mean  time  had  reached 
New  York,  and,  after  an  elaborate  and  re- 
generating toilet,  was  sauntering  into  the 
Manhattan  Club  to  lunch  tete-a-tete  with  his 
thoughts  of  Barbara.  The  Letter  was  as  yet 
unwritten,  but  he  felt  material  for  it  accumu- 
lating in  his  mind. 

As  he  entered  the  dining-room,  he  jostled 
against  a  man  who  was  also  going  in,  and, 
turning  to  apologize,  recognized  an  acquaint- 
ance who  made  up  in  charm  what  he  lacked 
in  youth.  He  was  a  Bostonian  of  the  Bos- 
tonians,  but  this  fact  did  not  at  all  clash  with 
his  present  whereabouts,  as  Bostonians  seem 
a  species  of  social  whale  that  have  to  come  up 
in  New  York  to  breathe.  What  did  some- 
what astound  Bering,  however,  was  the  fact 
that  Mr.  Everstone  Beanpoddy  proposed  that 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  171 

they  should  lunch  together,— distinguished 
personages  of  a  certain  age  generally  prefer- 
ring to  partake  of  youthful  society  and  Little- 
Neck  clams  at  different  times;  and  it  was 
with  an  almost  overwhelmed  sensation  that 
Dering  seated  himself  in  the  chair  opposite  to 
Mr.  Beanpoddy,  at  one  of  the  small  tables. 
This,  by  the  way,  was  the  gentleman  who  had 
recommended  him  to  select  for  a  feminine 
friend  a  woman  who  had  known  some  great 
sorrow,  his  reason  for  this  advice  being  that, 
having  known  grief  personally,  she  would  be 
less  ready  than  most  of  her  sisters  to  inflict  it 
on  another. 

"You're  looking  rather  fagged,"  he  now 
remarked,  stretching  his  fingers  among  the 
wineglasses,  as  though  he  were  about  to  strike 
a  chord  on  some  instrument  and  awaited  the 
harmonious  result  with  pleasure.  "Not  re- 
covered from  race- week  yet  ?" 

"I  wasn't  in  town  on  race-week,"  said 
Dering,  wondering  if  he  had  better  answer 
"  Washington"  or  "  Tuxedo"  to  the  question 
that  he  knew  would  follow,  and  vaguely  curi- 
ous as  to  the  unusual  mid-day  genialness  of 
Mr.  Beanpoddy. 


172  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  Not  in  town,  eh  ?  I  must  have  a  better 
look  at  you.  You  are  a  remarkable  young 
man.  Was  it  from  necessity  or  a  sense  of 
duty  that  you  absented  yourself?  And  if 
you  weren't  in  town,  where  were  you  ?" 

Dering  had  formed  his  lips  to  pronounce 
the  name  of  the  Father  of  his  Country,  when 
Mr.  Beanpoddy  interrupted  him. 

"  Ah,  I  remember  now,"  said  he :  "  you've 
been  in  Virginia.  Some  one  told  me, — some 
woman.  You've  a  cousin  there,  haven't  you  ? 
— a  cousin  by  marriage, — young  Pomfret's 
widow.  Some  one  told  me  she  was  a  great 
beauty, — another  woman,  too.  It  must  be 
true."  He  glanced  up  here,  and  saw  that 
Dering  was  coloring  furiously. 

"Ah!  so  that's  true,  too,"  he  continued, 
calmly.  "Another  woman  told  me  that. 
Your  absence  during  race-week  is  quite 
accounted  for.  Am  I  to  condole  with  or 
congratulate  you  ?" 

"  Neither,"  said  Dering,  shortly,  and  then 
forced  a  laugh,  feeling  that  he  had  shown 
temper. 

"  Then  I  will  congratulate  you  on  not 
having   to  condole  with  you.     Your  seedy 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  173 

appearance,  however,  is  not   yet   accounted 
for."     He  waited  a  moment  or  two,  as  if  ex- 
pecting a  reply,  and  then  went  on  :  "  In  spite 
of  your  expressive  and  laconic  reply,  my  dear 
boy,  I'm  afraid  that  you're  hard  hit, — down 
on  your  luck,  so  to  speak.     I  remember  we 
had  an  interesting  conversation  on  the  sub- 
ject of  friendship  between  the  sexes,  just  be- 
fore you  left  for  Virginia.     I  am  sure  that 
you   will    pardon   my  suspicions  when   you 
reflect  on  the  exact  correspondence  of  Mrs. 
Valentine  Pomfret's  personality  with  a  bit  of 
advice  that  I  gave  you.     Let  me  add  one 
thing.     If  any  one  were  to  ask  me  what  I 
considered  grief,  of  any  kind,  most  nearly  to 
resemble,    I    would   reply    by   slightly  mis- 
quoting the  words  of  the  Prince  of  Denmark, 
— '  a  mouse-trap.'     If  you  ask  why,  or  if  you 
will  allow  me  to  tell  you  why,"  pursued  Mr. 
Beanpoddy,  in  whom  the  matutinal  vermouth 
cocktail  had  begun  to  stir  the  spirit  of  epi- 
gram, "  I  will  say  that  grief  is  always  a  trap. 
We  walk  into  it  sometimes  quite  blindfold ; 
sometimes   the   smell  of  the   toasted  cheese 
which  it  contains  is  too  much  for  us ;  some- 
times we  get  nipped  by  trying  to  help  some 

15* 


174  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

brother  mouse  out.  But  it  is  always  wiser, 
in  the  event  of  being  caught,  to  content  our- 
selves in  the  fixed  compartment  with  such 
of  the  cheese  as  remains,  rather  than  to  go 
whirling  around  in  the  revolving  portion, 
rubbing  our  nose  against  the  wire,  exhausting 
ourselves,  and  always  ending  where  the  first 
evolution  began.  At  least  such  is  my  experi- 
ence." 

And  Mr.  Beanpoddy,  having  delivered  him- 
self of  this  monologue,  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
over  the  back  of  which  he  strapped  his  nap- 
kin, holding  an  end  in  either  hand  and  look- 
ing genially  at  Dering.  The  latter  was  making 
elaborate  designs  in  his  salt-cellar,  and  seemed 
absent-minded.  He  generally  gave  Mr.  Bean- 
poddy, whom  he  considered  a  brilliant  person, 
the  whole  of  his  attention ;  but  on  this  occa- 
sion he  had  lost  half  of  the  other's  harangue 
while  adding  to  the  material  for  The  Letter, 
and  he  had  just  composed  a  rather  telling  sen- 
tence when  the  above-mentioned  remark  was 
addressed  to  him. 

"That's  my  experience/'  repeated  Mr. 
Beanpoddy.  He  lifted  a  glass  of  Tokay, 
squaring  his  lips  outward  as  it  touched  them 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  175 

and  then  inward  as  he  withdrew  it,  and  press- 
ing the  corners  of  his  mouth  delicately  with 
his  napkin. 

"Everything's  a  trap  more  or  less,"  said 
Dering,  pulling  himself  together,  and  answer- 
ing rather  at  random. 

"  Ah  !  so  you  admit  it  ?"  replied  the  other, 
smiling.  "  Now,  I  hope,  my  dear  fellow,  that 
you  don't  consider  all  this  tirade  officious. 
The  milk  of  human  kindness  tinged  with 
officiousness  always  reminds  me  of  the  real 
fluid  tinged  with  wild  onion.  It  is  doubtless 
just  as  real  and  genuine  an  article,  but  cer- 
tainly it  is  very  unpalatable." 

"How  could  I  think  you  officious,  Mr. 
Beanpoddy  ?"  asked  Dering,  with  some  of 
the  petulance  of  a  child  who  is  awakened  in 
a  strong  light. 

Mr.  Beanpoddy's  brilliancy  was  bringing 
tears  to  his  mind's  eye,  and  he  could  not 
ponder  on  his  absent  lady  in  a  glare  which 
disclosed  the  very  molecules  that  compose 
thought,  as  particles  of  dust  are  disclosed  by 
a  sunbeam.  "  You  are  only  too  kind  to  take 
the  trouble,"  he  added,  earnestly.  "  I  appre- 
ciate it,  I  do  assure  you." 


176  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  You  are  most  tremendously  in  love," 
replied  Mr.  Bean  poddy. 

He  was  silent  a  few  moments,  rousing  him- 
self suddenly. 

"  See  here,  my  lad,"  he  remarked :  "  can't 
you  tell  me  something  about  her?  Is  she 
handsome  ?"     A  nod  from  Dering.    "  Blonde 

or  dar "     Another  nod  interrupted  him. 

"  Large  or " 

"  She  is  very  tall,"  said  Dering.  Then  he 
turned  desperately  and  faced  Mr.  Beanpoddy 
point-blank.  "  I  do  love  her  with  every  inch 
of  me,"  he  said.  "  It  will  seem  absurd  to  you, 
of  course,  but  I  felt  a  sneak  until  I  had  said 
it." 

He  hesitated,  rather  expecting  that  Mr. 
Beanpoddy  would  contradict  that  statement 
concerning  the  absurdity  of  his  (Dering's) 
condition  of  mind ;  but  he  did  not.  He  played 
with  a  long  light-colored  cigar  in  his  well- 
kept,  very  handsome  hands,  on  which  the 
veins  were  beginning  to  appear  in  a  species 
of  bas-relief,  and  merely  raised  one  of  his 
eyebrows  slightly. 

"  Such  statements  don't  sound  as  incredible 
to  old  chaps  like  myself  as  you  youngsters 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  177 

imagine,"  he  said,  finally :  "  only  it  is  like 
having  lost  an  arm, — the  sensation  of  hand 
and  fingers  remains  with  us,  but  we  can't 
grasp  anything  with  them." 

To  this  Dering  made  no  reply.  It  struck 
him  as  a  profoundly  sad  remark,  and  yet  he 
did  not  wish  to  take  it  too  seriously,  Mr. 
Beanpoddy  having  a  habit  like  that  of  an 
April  sun,  of  smiling  suddenly  on  gloom 
which  he  had  evoked.  He  here  solved  the 
difficulty  by  answering  himself. 

"It  is  better  to  have  one  arm  at  twenty 
than  all  the  fifty  of  Briareus  at  fourscore,"  he 
remarked,  with  terse  conviction,  then  added, 
with  his  delightful  smile,  which  was  bracketed 
between  two  curving  dimples,  "  If  I  had  that 
number  of  hands,  my  dear  boy,  you  may  be 
sure  they  would  be  held  out  to  you,  each  with 
a  separate  blessing  for  you  and  your  sweet- 
heart." His  smile  here  became  less  genial 
and  more  condensed  as  it  were,  having  a 
quizzical  compression  that  elongated  the  dim- 
ples. 

"  All  this  is  even  more  generous  than  it 
seems,"  he  said,  moving  his  wineglass  about, 
so  that  its  gold  flecks  of  light  fell  upon  an  old 


178  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

hoop-ring  of  small  diamonds  set  in  iron, 
which  he  wore  on  his  right  hand. 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  could  be,"  replied  Der- 
ing,  warmly.  "My  tongue  ties  itself  into 
knots  whenever  I  really  want  to  express  my- 
self." 

"  I  had  designs  on  you,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Beanpoddy.  "I  thought  it  would  be  very 
pleasant  to  have  you  for  a  great-nephew." 

Dering  once  more  colored  furiously. 

"  It  is  I  who  should  blush,  my  dear  boy ; 
but  then  I  don't  know.  Providence  is  con- 
sidered a  great  and  successful  match-maker, 
eh  ?  Well,  you  must  ask  me  to  your  wedding. 
I  wish  I  could  attend  in  the  office  of  miracle- 
worker  and  turn  the  waters  of  Existence  into 
wine  for  you.  However,  Love  is  the  god  who 
is  supposed  to  do  that,  although  it's  generally 
the  wine  that  is  watered  on  such  occasions 
nowadays.  One  decants  one's  whole  allotted 
life-portion  of  Perrier- Jouet  on  that  momen- 
tous morning,  and  the  remainder  is  apt  to 
become  flat,  or  else  our  Hebes  trip  in  serving 
it." 

"But  if  one  doesn't  decant  it  all?"  sug- 
gested Dering,  shyly. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  179 

"Then  the  air  gets  compressed,  and  the 
bottles  fly  to  pieces  in  one's  hands,"  replied 
Mr.  Beanpoddy  at  once.  "  No,  no,  my  dear ' 
fellow,  we  cannot  drink  our  wine  and  have  it 
too,  as  runs  the  saying  in  regard  to  the  his- 
torical doughnut.  If  we  can  merely  quench 
thirst  with  what  is  left,  we  should  be  grate- 
ful." 

"I  think  I'd  rather  famish,"  said  Dering, 
curtly. 

"You  think  so  now.  You  don't  happen 
to  be  thirsty.  Passion  is  like  the  spiced  feasts 
which  used  to  be  given  by  the  Inquisition  to 
certain  unfortunates  who  were  doomed  to  be 
famished.  I  don't  fancy  such  individuals 
would  have  been  very  particular  as  to  the 
excellence  of  any  liquor  which  might  have 
been  offered  them.  Ah,  my  dear  boy,  there 
comes  for  us  all  a  time  when  we  echo  the 
sentiments  of  the  philosopher  who  said, 
'  There's  no  such  thing  as  bad  whiskey. 
Some's  better  than  others,  but  it's  all  good.' ' 

Dering  had  a  dim  idea  that  Mr.  Bean- 
poddy was  walking  upon  water  somewhat 
beyond  his  own  depth,  but  which  upbore  him 
in  obedience  to  a  certain  mysterious  power 


180  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

which  he  wielded.  He  had  recourse  to  a 
blunt  mention  of  facts. 

"Whiskey  doesn't  get  flat  when  it's  de- 
canted," he  said.  "We  were  talking  of 
champagne." 

"  Ah !  that's  just  it,"  was  the  bland  re- 
joinder. "  One  would  rather  drink  unpleas- 
antly fiery  whiskey  than  unpleasantly  flat 
champagne." 

Dering  was  beginning  to  feel  irritated. 
"I  think  I'd  rather  take  my  chances  with 
the  compressed  air,"  he  said,  pushing  out  his 
under  lip  with  a  slightly  obstinate  look. 

"  I  have  known  many  who  preferred  to," 
replied  Mr.  Beanpoddy ;  "  but  when  a  frag- 
ment of  the  glass  of  those  figurative  bottles 
flies  in  one's  mind's  eye  it  affects  one  exactly 
as  the  bit  of  glass  which  flew  into  the  eye  of 
the  little  girl  in  Andersen's  story  of  the 
Snow  Queen.  It  froze  her  heart,  you  re- 
member." 

"  Yes ;  but,  if  you  recall  the  rest  of  the 
story,  her  sweetheart  thawed  it  out." 

Mr.  Beanpoddy  rose,  and  answered  between 
the  puffs  with  which  he  lighted  a  fresh  cigar 
from  the  stump  of  the  other, — 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  181 

"Assuredly,  my  dear  fellow;  but  if  you 
will  go  a  little  further  you  will  remember, 
also,  that  that  feat  was  accomplished  before 
marriage,  not  after." 

•9 

XV. 

This  conversation  with  Mr.  Beanpoddy  had 
on  Dering  an  effect  irritating  rather  than  de- 
pressing. He  felt  that  his  love  had  been  pat- 
ronized, and  to  a  man,  especially  to  a  young 
man,  it  is  infinitely  more  disagreeable  to  have 
his  state  of  mind  patronized  than  to  be  pat- 
ronized himself. 

Then,  too,  for  the  first  time  during  their 
friendship,  Mr.  Beanpoddy's  brilliancy  had 
seemed  insufficient,  and  when  he  thought  of 
its  radiance  as  having  been  turned  upon  Bar- 
bara he  felt  as  though  some  one  had  turned 
an  electric  light  upon  a  star.  The  distin- 
guished Bostonian's  similes  seemed  to  him 
far-fetched,  and  his  cynicism  somewhat  mere- 
tricious. A  remark  here  occurred  to  Dering, 
which  he  wondered  if  he  would  have  strength 
of  mind  enough  to  make  to  Mr.  Beanpoddy 
when  they  next  met.  He  fancied  himself 
saying,  quietly,  "At  least,  Mr.  Beanpoddy, 

16 


182  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

there  is  one  thing  in  which  you  do  believe, — 
that  is,  in  your  unbelief." 

For  one  fact,  however,  he  had  to  thank  that 
charming  pessimist, — namely,  for  the  indig- 
nantly rebellious  mood  which  he  had  aroused 
and  which  made  The  Letter  a  comparatively 
easy  task.  He  tore  up  the  stilted  first  two 
pages,  which  he  had  twice  copied,  and  wrote 
the  following  words,  in  a  species  of  panic  lest 
they  should  escape  him  before  recorded : 

" 1  will  not  begin  this  letter.     I  can- 


not know  how  you  would  have  me  begin  it. 
I  don't  even  know  whether  you  expect  a  con- 
ventional note  now.  I  do  not  think  you 
dream  of  the  frightful  self-control  I  have  had 
to  exercise  over  myself  during  the  last  two 
weeks.  I  am  glad  you  do  not  know.  I  can 
only  say,  over  and  over,  I  love  you, — I  love 
you.  Perhaps  you  will  think  it  your  duty  to 
throw  this  in  the  fire  when  you  read  those 
words.  But  for  God's  sake  don't  be  afraid 
of  my  ever  forcing  my  love  on  you.  I  have 
told  you,  and  I  mean  it,  that  everything  shall 
be  just  as  you  say :  I  will  write  every  week, 
or  I  will  stop  writing  altogether,  precisely  as 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  183 

you  may  command.  It  is  horrible  here  in 
this  great  whirl  of  life.  Everything  jars  on 
me,  or  else  I  am  out  of  tune  with  everything. 
I  went  to  the  play  last  night,  and  one  of  the 
actresses  reminded  me  of  you :  her  hair  was 
just  that  rich,  brown-red  color;  and  I  could 
see  your  very  gesture.  Strange  to  say,  she 
had  some  of  the  tones  in  your  dear  voice,  so 
that  when  I  heard  them  my  heart  seemed  to 
jump  into  my  mouth  like  a  hot  coal.  The 
foot-lights  became  a  yellow  blur.  I  was 
standing  with  you  in  that  frozen  field;  I 
held  you  in  my  arms, — in  my  arms;  I  felt 
your  heart  on  me ;  I  felt  you, — you, — you. 
If  this  hurts  you,  forgive  me.  Remember,  I 
do  not  know  much  about  women,  or  how  to 
handle  them,  as  it  were,  and  you  are  the 
first  for  whom  I  have  ever  had  even  a  pass- 
ing fancy ;  that  is,  in  the  high  sense  of  the 
word,  of  course.  God  forbid  I  should  pose 
to  you  as  an  Admirable  Crichton !  When- 
ever I  think  of  those  other  disturbing  fancies 
that  have  starred  my  life  with  their  little 
poisonous  blossoms,  I  think  of  you  as  a  dear 
gardener,  who  has  cut  out  a  great  square  of 
the  sod  on  which  they  grew,  tossed  it  aside, 


184  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

and,  in  the  bare,  torn  space  which  it  left,  has 
planted  a  strong,  straight,  vigorous  young 
tree, — my  love  for  you,  dear. 

"  I  am  writing  this  at  the  Club,  sitting  here 
by  myself.  Some  rounders  have  just  rolled 
down-stairs,  after  one  of  them  had  stuck  his 
head  in  here  and  muttered  to  the  rest,  'Q — d  ! 
Man  in  that  room  all  alone/'  I  have  had  a 
rather  hard  day  of  it,  and  feel  worn  out,  mind 
and  body :  so  forgive  this  horrible  scrawl. 
Your  answer  to  this  will  tell  me  what  to  do. 

"  Yours, 

"J.  D." 

When  Barbara  received  this  letter,  she  was 
seated  at  a  small  piano  which  had  lately  been 
placed  in  her  room,  playing  that  richly  sombre 
second  movement  of  Chopin's  Thirteenth  Noc- 
turne. Martha  Ellen  placed  the  envelope  be- 
fore her  on  the  music-rack,  and  it  fell  down 
between  her  hands,  making  a  slight  discord. 
She  withdrew  her  fingers  from  the  chords 
which  had  been  the  delight  of  her  husband, 
and  opened  Dering's  letter;  then,  having 
half  drawn  the  closely-written  sheets  from 
the  envelope,  thrust  them  back,  held  them 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  185 

for  a  moment  between  her  open  palms,  and 
went  over  in  front  of  the  wood  fire. 

Her  heart  was  beating  heavily,  and  when 
she  again  withdrew  the  stiff  leaves  they  rat- 
tled against  each  other  in  her  eager  grasp. 
Once  more  she  put  them  away  from  her,  then 
with  a  quick  movement  turned  to  the  signa- 
ture. A  certain  shade,  delicate  but  distinct, 
passed  over  her  face,  and  she  pressed  her 
under  lip  outward  and  then  close  above  her 
upper,  in  a  gesture  expressive  of  conviction 
slightly  tinged  with  disappointment.  A  few 
moments  afterwards  she  read  the  whole  letter. 

Its  effect  upon  her  was  contradictory,  and 
consisted  of  a  series  of  varying  shocks  rather 
than  of  any  positive  impression.  Its  opening 
went  to  her  heart :  she  felt  her  throat  swell 
as  she  read  it.  This  sentence  rather  chilled 
her,  however :  "  I  will  write  every  week,  or 
I  will  stop  writing  altogether,  as  you  may 
command." 

"  He  doesn't  love  me ;  he  doesn't  love  me," 
she  said,  addressing  the  fire,  and  with  a  repe- 
tition of  that  unpleasantly  convinced  move- 
ment of  her  under  lip.  Again  she  read  on, 
only  to  receive  a  still  greater  jar  a  few  sen- 

16* 


186  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

tences  further.  An  actress  had  reminded  him 
of  her ! — a  painted  thing,  with  a  sing-song 

voice  and Ah  !  but  here :  the  voice  also 

resembled  hers  ;  the  hair, — "  just  that  rich, 
brown-red  color."  She  put  the  letter  down 
on  the  white  fur  rug  beside  her,  and  buried 
her  face  in  the  seat  of  a  chair  near  by.  If  a 
woman  has  handsome  hair,  she  likes  to  think 
that  its  tint  has  never  been  precisely  repro- 
duced in  the  locks  of  any  other  woman,  es- 
pecially in  those  of  a  "  leading  lady,"  who 
probably  wears  an  auburn  wig ! 

What  followed  proved  a  slight  compensa- 
tion, however.  The  fact  of  foot-lights  having 
become  a  "yellow  blur"  was  sufficient  evi- 
dence that  he  had  been  thinking  intensely  of 
her,  even  while  noting  these  points  of  resem- 
blance in  that  red-haired  person  on  the  stage. 
And  when  he  said  that  he  held  her  in  his 
arms, — in  his  arms, — and  felt  her  heart  on 
him,  and  felt  her, — her, — her, — the  boyish 
iterance  and  vehemence  of  it  thrilled  and 
startled  her. 

She  found  herself  smiling,  her  breath 
coming  quickly.  She  lifted  the  paper  nearer 
to  her  face. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  187 

Then  came  that  charming,  dainty  bit  of 
allegory  in  which  he  likened  her  to  a  dear 
gardener,  and  his  love  for  her  to  a  vigorous 
young  tree. 

Again  she  put  down  the  letter  and  hid  her 
face.  She  took  it  up  again,  touched,  softened, 
delighted,  only  to  receive  a  third  jolt,  as  it 
were,  against  the  brusque  and  hurried  sen- 
tences with  which  it  closed.  She  could  see 
those  rollicking  dudes  lurching  down-stairs, 
and  hear  the  drunken  tones  of  amaze  in 
which  one  of  them  had  exclaimed,  "  G — d ! 
Man  in  that  room  all  alone  I" 

Poor  Barbara,  who  was  thoroughly  morbid, 
overstrained,  and  overexcited,  kneeled  up, 
took  the  great  chair  into  her  embrace,  and 
broke  into  a  passion  of  sobs.  They  did  not 
last  very  long,  and  ended  in  a  fit  of  laughter, 
which  was  rather  mirthless,  although  not  at 
all  hysterical.  This  in  turn  was  replaced  by 
a  deep  frown. 

She  got  to  her  feet,  leaving  the  letter  upon 
the  rug,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  large 
room,  striking  her  hands  lightly  together, 
now  behind  her,  now  in  front  of  her.  She 
stopped  mechanically  after  a  while,  and  took 


188  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

her  Bible  from  a  low  table,  opening  it  at 
random  in  that  fashion  which  had  become 
second  nature  to  her.  The  verse  upon  which 
she  put  her  finger  ran  as  follows :  "  And  I 
will  give  them  one  heart  and  one  way,  that 
they  may  fear  me  forever,  for  the  good  of 
them,  and  of  their  children  after  them." 
She  turned  hastily  to  another  place:  uAn 
end  is  come :  the  end  is  come.  It  watcheth 
for  thee:  behold,  it  is  come."  The  Bible 
slipped  from  her  loosened  hold  upon  the  floor, 
and  she  sank  to  her  knees  beside  it,  pressing 
her  joined  hands  into  her  lap  and  looking  at 
the  open  book  in  front  of  her. 

"  It  watches  for  me,"  she  said,  whisperingly. 
"An  end  is  come:  it  watches  for  me, — it 
watches.  He  watches  me;  he  looks  at  me. 
He  smiles  to  himself.  I  wonder  if  I'm  «*oin2: 
crazy  ?  I  seem  to  be  watching  myself  from 
some  high  place ;  I  seem  to  be  outside  of  my- 
self; I  am  as  apart  from  myself  as  my  gown 
is.  Oh !  if  I  had  only  one  soul  to  speak  to, 
to  help  me ! — no,  not  to  help  me, — only  to  be 
sorry  with  me!"  She  turned,  still  on  her 
knees,  and  reached  for  Dering's  prayer-book, 
opening  it  at  this  verse:    "Mine  eyes  long 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  189 

sore  for  thy  word,  saying,  Oh,  when  wilt  thou 
comfort  me  ?" 

"  That  is  it !  that  is  it !"  she  cried,  trem- 
bling. " l  When  wilt  thou  comfort  me  V  I 
cannot  bear  it !  I  cannot !  I  cannot !  But  I 
must.    What  can  I  do  ?    I  can't  get  away  from 

it, — from  myself, — from    the    memories 

Oh,  the  memories !  This  place  is  haunted. 
I  will  go  away.  No :  what  am  I  saying  ? — 
I  came  here  for  that;  I  came  here  to  be 
haunted.  Oh,  Val,  help  me !  help  me !  My 
God,  give  him  back  to  me !  give  him  back 
to  me !  give  him  back  to  me !  I  will  pay  for 
it.  Oh,  it  was  cruel — it  seemed  cruel !  We 
tried  to  be  good ;  we  tried  to  help  others,  and 
to  be  unselfish,  and  to  think  of  your  will  in 

everything I  must  be  crazy.     I  will  go 

out ;  I  will  go  out  into  the  air." 

As  she  walked  along  the  red  roads,  which 
were  lightly  powdered  with  snow,  she  found 
an  idea  grow  in  her  mind  until  it  had  become 
a  resolve,  and  twenty  minutes  later  she  knocked 
at  the  door  of  a  small  frame  cottage  which 
bore  the  sonorous  title  of  "  The  Rectory." 
A  child  opened  it  for  her, — a  pretty  thing  in 
a  brown  woollen  frock  and  white  pinafore, 


190  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

who  looked  up  at  the  tall,  black-draped  figure 
through  her  light-browu  curls,  which  she 
pulled  over  her  face  with  oue  hand. 

"May  I  come  in?  Is  Mr.  Trehune  at 
home  ?"  said  Barbara. 

The  child  sidled  about,  swinging  the  door 
from  side  to  side,  and  muttered  something 
indistinctly. 

"It's  very  cold,"  pursued  Barbara,  with 
her  smile.     "  Mayn't  I  come  into  the  hall  ?" 

"  Yes !"  burst  forth  the  child,  as  though  a 
small  fire-cracker  had  exploded  in  her  mouth. 

Barbara  stepped  inside,  out  of  reach  of  the 
bitter  wind,  and  just  as  she  did  so  Mr.  Trehune 
himself  came  to  the  door  of  his  study. 

"  Nell,  you  rogue "  he  began,  stopping 

short  at  sight  of  Barbara. 

"  Oh  !  may  I  speak  to  you  a  few  mo- 
ments, Mr.  Trehune  ?"  she  said,  moving  for- 
ward. "  I'm  Barbara  Pomfret.  I  am  very 
unhappy.  I  thought  you  might  say  some- 
thing to  me." 

Trehune,  who  was  a  young  man,  blushed 
frantically,  the  color  showing  even  through 
his  light  hair,  which  was  cropped  so  close  as 
to  be  of  a  silver  tone. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  191 

He  was  tall  and  well  put  up,  and  had  a 
broad,  squarely-cut  face,  in  which  the  mouth 
was  the  best  feature,  although  his  eyes,  of  a 
dark  blue,  were  fine  in  spite  of  the  lashes  be- 
ing silvery  like  his  hair  and  brows.  He  made 
an  awkward  bow  which  suggested  the  presence 
of  a  rusty  hinge  in  the  small  of  his  back,  and 
opened  the  door  of  his  study.  On  the  rug 
before  the  fire  were  three  more  children,  each 
one  younger  than  the  little  girl  who  had 
opened  the  door.  All  wore  brown  woollen 
frocks  and  white  pinafores,  and,  as  their  father 
re-entered,  began  a  clamor  like  that  of  a  nest 
of  birds  about  to  be  fed.  This  ceased  abruptly 
as  they  caught  sight  of  Barbara. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  interrupting  you,"  she  said, 
nervously. 

"  Oh,  not  the  least, — not  the  least,"  he  as- 
sured her ;  and  catching  up  the  children, 
one  on  his  shoulders,  one  under  each  arm, 
with  Nell  following,  he  went  out  by  another 
door. 

XYI. 

When  he  came  back  he  found  his  unex- 
pected visitor  walking  up  and  down  his  little 


192  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

room.  She  turned  and  came  instantly  towards 
him. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  please,"  she  said,  with  a 
smile  which  lie  thought  strange :  "  I  cry  very 
seldom,  and  never  before  people ;  but  some- 
thing told  me  you  could  help  me." 

"I  will  try  my  best,"  he  said,  seriously, 
and  they  sat  down  on  opposite  sides  of  a  small 
table  which  was  covered  with  a  red-and-white 
damask  cloth.  Barbara  stretched  out  her  arms 
upon  it,  and  rested  one  hand  on  the  back  of 
the  other,  interlacing  the  fingers. 

"  I  am  so  unhappy  !"  she  said,  again.  "  Per- 
haps '  tortured'  is  a  better  word.  Yes, — I  am 
tortured.  May  I  say  things  to  you  just  as 
they  come  in  my  mind  ?" 

"  Indeed  you  may,"  said  Trehune,  gently. 
If  he  had  not  known  who  she  was,  he  would 
certainly  have  thought  her  unbalanced,  to  say 
the  least. 

"  Then  tell  me,  do  you  expect  to  meet  your 
wife  in  heaven  ?  Do  you  think  she  will  know 
yon?  Do  you  think  she  knows  about  you 
now  ?     Do  you — think — she — watches  you  ?" 

Poor  Trehune  bad  turned  terribly  pale, 
and  sat  staring  at  Barbara  as  though  she  had 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  193 

plunged  a  knife  into  him  and  was  amusing 
herself  by  twisting  it  about.  Dering  had  enter- 
tained a  similar  thought  of  her  on  one  occasion. 

"  Do  you  ?  Do  you  ?"  said  Barbara.  "  Do 
you  think  she  loves  you  now  ?  Or,  if  she  loves 
you,  do  you  think  it  is  just  as  a  spirit  might, 
— just  as  a  guardian  angel  might  ?  Do  you 
think  she  would  care  if — if  you  were  to  love 
some  one  else  ?" 

He  opened  his  lips  to  reply,  but  no  sound 
escaped  them. 

"  Do  you  think  she  would  care,  as  a  living 
woman  would  care,  if  you  were  to  marry  again  ? 
Do  you  think  God  would  let  her  know  ?  Do 
you  think  it  would  be  a  sin  ?  Do  you  think 
it  would  be  a  sin  ?  Do  you  think  it  would 
hurt  her  ?  Do  you  think  she  would  have  a — 
a  contempt  for  you  ?" 

He  let  his  arms  drop  heavily  on  the  table, 
and,  putting  his  head  down  on  them,  grasped 
at  his  short  hair  with  both  hands. 

"  I  have  hurt  you,"  said  Barbara,  stupe- 
fiedly.  "  I  came  to  you  because  I  was  hurt, 
and  I  have  only  hurt  you.  I  am  so  sorry  ! 
Let  me  go.  I  only  torture  people :  they 
cannot  help  me." 

17 


194  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  No,  don't  go,"  Treliune  managed  to  gasp. 
He  got  up  and  went  to  the  window,  where 
he  remained  for  some  moments.  Barbara  sat 
moveless,  staring  down  at  her  locked  hands, 
which  still  rested  on  the  table  before  her. 

He  returned  presently,  and  resumed  his 
seat,  the  only  sign  of  emotion  being  a  slight 
twitching  of  his  deeply-curved  upper  lip. 

"  I — I — think  I  can  answer  you  now/'  he 
said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Will  you  ask  me  your 
questions  once  more?" 

"  No,  no,"  replied  Barbara.  "  I  was  des- 
perate. I  did  not  see  how  selfish  it  all  was. 
You  must  forgive  me.  Please  forgive  me.  I 
don't  think  I  am  quite  myself.  I  don't  think 
I  would  have  hurt  you  so  if  I  had  been  quite 
myself." 

"  I  understand ;  I  understand  perfectly," 
said  Trehune.  "  I  will  do  anything  in  my 
power  for  you.  You  asked  me  if — I  thought 
— I  should — meet — my  wife  in  heaven  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Barbara.  She  leaned  towards 
him,  ceasing  to  breathe,  and  with  eyes  that 
devoured  his  face. 

His  answer  came  at  once,  concise,  distinct, 
assured. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  195 

"  I  do  believe  that,"  he  replied. 

"  You — you  mean  you  think  you  will  rec- 
ognize her  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  As  your  wife  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  As  your  wife  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  she  will  recognize  you,  of  course  ?" 

"  Of  course." 

"  But  suppose  you  live  to  be  an  old,  old 
man  ?" 

"  That  is  with  God." 

"Do  you  think  you  will  love  each  other 
as  you  did  on  earth  ?" 

"  More." 

"  No,  but  do  you  think  you  will  love  each 
other  as  you  did  then  ?" 

"No, — but  more." 

"More?  More?"  she  said,  impatiently. 
"  Wasn't  it  enough  ?  "What  could  you  want 
more  ?" 

"  Nothing !"  he  cried,  with  sudden  passion, 
starting  to  his  feet :  then  the  dull  look  came 
back  upon  his  face,  and  he  dropped  listlessly 
into  his  chair. 


196  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

"I  wish  I  knew  how  to  talk  to  you,"  he 
said,  almost  piteously. 

"  But  do  you  think  she  watches  you  ?  Do 
you  think  that  ?"  pursued  Barbara. 

"I  think  she  is  near  me  very  often,"  he 
answered,  softly. 

Barbara  cast  a  hurried  glance  over  her 
shoulder.  "  And  you  think  you  can  wound 
her,  can  pain  her,  by  your  actions  ?" 

"I  think  it  likely,"  he  said,  with  some 
doubt.  "  But  I  don't  know.  God  may  keep 
all  such  bitterness  from  those  he  has  taken  to 
himself.  I  try  never  to  do  what  I  think 
would  have  wounded  her." 

"  Ah,  that  is  it !  that  is  it !"  cried  Barbara. 
"  Then  you  are  sure — you  are  sure  that  you 
will  see  her  again  ? — her  hair,  her  eyes,  her 
smile,  herself? — all  again,  just  as  she  was,  just 
as  you  remember  her,  just  as  she  was  when 
she  was  your  wife  ?  She  will  have  the  same 
ways,  the  same  gestures  of  head  and  hand  ? 
She  will  speak  in  the  same  voice  ?  You  will 
touch  her ;  you  will  feel  her ;  she  will  be  your 
own  again ;  you  will  take  her  in  your  arms ;  she 

will  love  you ;  you  will  have  her  ? "    She 

broke  off,  suffocated  with  her  rapid  breathing. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  197 

Poor  Trehune  was  staring  in  front  of  him, 
his  face  ghastly  pale,  his  forehead  drenched 
with  perspiration.  It  was  like  being  dragged 
backwards  through  a  hell  which  he  had  once 
traversed. 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Barbara,  in  a  heart- 
broken voice,  "  I  am  making  you  suffer  too 
much !  I  will  go.  Indeed  you  had  better  let 
me  go." 

"  I  don't  mind  suffering  if  I  can  help  you," 
he  stammered.  "What  is  it  that  troubles 
you  most?  Do  you  doubt  all  these  things 
that  you  have  been  asking  me  ?" 

Her  answer  stupefied  him. 

"I — almost — want  to,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  keeping  her  eyes  on  him.  "  Is  that  a  sin  ?" 

"  You  want  to  ?"  said  Trehune. 

"  I  don't  know.  Sometimes  I  think  I  do. 
I  don't  know.  Don't  you  think  it  is  far,  far 
worse  for  a  woman  to  marry  a  second  time 
than  for  a  man  ?" 

"  So  much  depends,"  began  the  poor  young 
fellow,  helplessly.  "  There  is  no  sin  in  either 
case " 

"  But  we  could  never  be  sure  that  they 
wouldn't  feel  a  contempt  for  us :  could  we  ?" 

17* 


198  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  That  doesn't  seem  natural  to  me." 

"What  doesn't?" 

"  That  any  one  whom  we  have  loved,  and 
who  is  in  heaven,  at  peace,  at  rest,  could  feel 
scorn  for  those  on  earth  who  love  them." 

"  Ah,  yes, — for  those  who  love  them  ;  yes. 
But  if  one  stops  loving  them, — if  one  loves 
some  one  else  better :  what  then  ?  And  after- 
wards— suppose — oh,"  she  panted  on,  with 
whitening  face,  "  suppose  the  other  died  too, — 
before  you  did, — and  went  there,  and  they — 
they  discussed  you, — talked  you  over  to  each 
other:  what  then?  Could  you  stand  that? 
Could  any  one  stand  that  without  going  mad  ? 
Mr.  Trehune,  do  you  think  I  can  be  going 
mad  ?     I  have  such  terrible  thoughts." 

"  I  think  you  are  very  morbid,"  he  said, 
seriously.  "  And  you  look  feverish.  Are 
you  sure  you  are  well  ?  Was  it  not  impru- 
dent in  you  to  come  out  in  this  bitter  wind  ?" 

"  My  head  was  burning  so,"  she  answered, 
"I  felt  as  if  the  cold  would  help  me.  And 
then  I  could  not  seem  to  breathe  in  the  house  : 
there  seemed  something  watching,  watching, 
all  the  time.  Oh,  I  am  so  unhappy ! — I  am 
so  unhaj^py !" 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  199 

"  I  wish  to  God  I  could  help  you,"  he  said. 
"  Is  there  no  way  ?  Can't  you  tell  me  some- 
thing of  what  is  troubling  you  ?" 

"  I  thought  I  could,"  she  whispered,  "  but 
I  can't, — I  can't.  I  will  have  to  go.  I  have 
distressed  you  enough.  But  you  don't  think 
they  would  scorn  us,  then  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  I  do  not." 

"  You  are  sure  ?     You  are  utterly  sure  ?" 

"Absolutely  sure." 

"  And  you  think  that  perhaps  God  will  not 
let  our  actions  pain  them  ?" 

"  I  think  it  most  likely." 

"And  you  really  think  that  they  would 
not  have  contempt  for  us  ?" 

Trehune  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  full  at 
her  for  the  first  time. 

"  We  might  have  it  for  ourselves,"  he  said, 
slowly. 

She  began  to  shiver  from  head  to  foot. 
Her  teeth  chattered  so  that  she  could  scarcely 
speak. 

"  Then  you  think  it  is  wrong  to  marry 
again  ?" 

"  It  would  be  wrong  for  me.  I  do  not  say 
that  it  would  be  wrong  for  you." 


200  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

"  Why  do  you  think  it  would  be  wrong  for 
you  ?" 

Again  the  passion  in  him  broke  forth : 

"  Because  I  would  be  a  cowardly  hound  to 
marry  another  woman,  with  my  heart  in  the 
grave  of  one  who  has  been  all  to  me  that 
earth  can  ever  be.     That  is  why !" 

She  laid  her  face  against  her  outstretched 
arm  and  was  silent  for  some  moments.  Finally 
she  said,  in  a  weak  voice, — 

"  You  think  it  is  impossible  that  you  should 
ever  love  again  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  he  replied,  almost  with 
violence. 

"/was  sure  of  it, — once,"  she  said,  gently. 

There  came  another  silence,  which  she 
again  broke : 

"Are  you  never  lonely?  Do  you  never 
yearn  for  a  closer  human  love  and  sympathy 
than  you  have  now  ?"  she  asked  him. 

"  Yes,  but  I  glory  in  thinking  that  what  I 
am  enduring  is  all  for  her  sake,  and  that  some 
day  we  will  smile  over  it  together." 

"  You  are  very,  very  certain,"  said  Bar- 
bara, wistfully.  "  It  all  seems  so  far — so 
desolately  cold   and  far — to  me.     It  is  like 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  201 

trying  to  warm  one's  hands  at  a  star.  And 
then  you  have  your  children, — her  children. 
They  must  be  like  her  in  one  way  or  another. 
They  speak  to  you  with  her  voice ;  they  look 
at  you  with  her  eyes.  I  never  had  a  child, 
you  know.  Look:  if  you  were  to  meet 
another  woman  just  like  her  in  every  way, 
in  every  line  of  form  and  face,  in  every  ges- 
ture, in  every  trick  of  voice  and  smile, — a 
woman  who  was  even  lovelier  than  she  had 
been, — would  you  love  her  ?" 

"  That  is  impossible,"  replied  Trehune. 

"Never  say  anything  is  impossible,"  said 
Barbara,  sharply, — "  you  who  believe  in 
heaven  and  the  meeting  of  wives  and  hus- 
bands. No,  forgive  me :  I  am  in  such  pain, 
— I  am  so  unhappy.  Then  you  prefer  to  lead 
a  life  of  absolute  loneliness  and  heart-hunger 
to  defrauding  her  of  even  one  thought  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Trehune. 

"  Then  you  are  a  wonderful  man,"  she  said, 
in  a  tired  voice.  "  I  believe  you ;  but  it  is 
wonderful, — it  is  wonderful." 

She  stood  up,  drawing  further  on  her  long 
gloves,  and  taking  her  muff  from  the  table. 

"  You  have  much  to  forgive  me,"  she  said, 


202  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  and  I  have  much  to  thank  you  for.  I  do 
thank  you  with  all  my  heart.  If  you  would 
send  the  little  one  called  Nell  over  to  Rose- 
mary sometimes,  it  would  be  very  good  of 
you.  I  have  a  doll's  house  that  belonged  to 
me  as  a  little  girl,  and  I  understand  children  : 
I  never  bore  them.  You  know  I  think  grown 
people  bore  children  far  oftener  than  children 
bore  them  :  don't  you  ?" 

"  I  will  bring  her  to-morrow,"  answered 
Trehune,  "  if  you  will  let  me  come  to  inquire 
how  you  are.  Won't  you  let  me  walk  home 
with  you  ?" 

"  No,  no,  thank  you  very  much.  I  would 
rather  be  alone.  Do  you  think  Nell  would 
kiss  me  if  you  brought  her  in  here  ?  No, 
never  mind  :  I  look  so  tall  and  big  in  all  this 
black,  I  might  frighten  her.  I  will  wait 
until  I  have  the  doll's  house  as  the  back- 
ground. Good-night.  You  have  been  so 
good  to  me.     I  will  not  forget, — ever." 

She  stepped  out  into  the  late  and  bitter 
afternoon,  and  he  saw  her  long  black  veil 
borne  out  on  the  high  wind,  like  a  sombre 
pennon,  as  she  walked  across  the  frozen 
fields. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  203 

XVII. 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  her  interview 
with  Trehune  that  Barbara  wrote  Dering 
the  following  letter : 

"  Do  not  think  that  I  write  to  you  in  cold- 
ness. Do  not  think  that  you  have  all  the  suf- 
fering. I  tell  you  I  have  sounded  the  blackest 
depths  of  the  waters  of  Marah,  and  my  feet 
have  sunk  into  the  mud  at  their  bottom.  I 
do  not  seem  able  to  feel.  I  do  not  suffer 
while  I  write :  I  only  know  that  I  have  suf- 
fered. I  hope  I  may  always  have  this  stone 
in  my  breast  instead  of  a  heart.  I  am  cowed 
utterly.  I  shrink  from  grief  with  every  fibre 
of  soul  and  body.  I  shrink  from  giving  it  to 
any  one  else ;  but  I  must, — I  must !  Oh,  my 
dear,  you  will  see  that  I  am  right,  that  this  is 
the  only  way  it  all  could  end.  You  could 
not  respect  me ;  I  could  not  respect  myself; 
I  would  be  always  haunted  by  the  feeling  that 
you  had  a  secret  contempt  for  me.  And  you 
would  have, — you  would  have.  After  the  first 
freshness  of  it  all  was  over,  you  would  begin 
to  think,  '  If  I  die,  I  wonder  who  this  woman 


204  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

will  marry  V  You  would  look  at  your  friends 
and  think,  '  Perhaps  he  will  be  her  husband 
some  day/  or,  '  Perhaps  that  other  one/  We 
could  not  look  forward  to  meeting  after  death. 
Why,  think  of  the  mockery  of  it !  the  hideous, 
hideous  horror  of  it !  Heaven,  did  I  say  ? 
Could  there  be  a  more  absolute  hell  ?  It  is 
my  idea  of  hell.  My  dear,  my  dear,  it  is 
better  that  you  should  try  to  forget  me.  Or 
no !  I  cannot  say  that ;  I  cannot  honestly  wish 
it.  Oh,  God !  yesterday  I  was  afraid  I  was 
going  mad,  to-day  I  almost  wish  that  I  were. 
Oh,  how  unnecessarily  cruel  all  this  seems ! 
I  try  so  hard  to  be  good,  and  to  see  a  reason 
for  it,  but  I  cannot ! — I  cannot !  I  can  only 
crouch,  and  cry  with  poor  David,  '  All  thy 
billows  and  waves  have  gone  over  me/  And 
yet  it  seems  even  worse  than  that.  Sometimes 
it  comes  over  me  like  an  awful  earth-wave, 
crushing,  stifling,  with  no  crisp  coolness  as  of 
water,  which  refreshes  even  while  it  drowns. 
The  color  and  warmth  are  gone  from  life  for 
me ;  only  the  beauty  of  form  remains,  as  in 
the  cold  naked  grace  of  a  statue.  You  will 
thank  me  for  this  some  day ;  and  when  that 
day  comes — oh,  God ! — I  will  pray  for  death 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  205 

even  more  frantically  than  I  do  now.  If  I 
could  only  make  you  understand !  If  I  could 
only .  bring  you  to  some  comprehension  of 
what  I  am  enduring !  Dear,  be  good  to  me, 
— be  gentle.  You  must  go  out  of  my  life, — 
you  must !  It  would  bring  you  only  sorrow. 
I  know  how  morbid  all  this  will  seem  to  you  ; 
I  know  how  you  will  try  to  convince  me.  But 
do  not  try :  only  help  me ;  only  be  good  to 
me.  Oh,  if  you  only  knew  how  I  suffer ! 
Dear,  I~pray  God  to  be  always  with  you, — to 
love  you, — to  keep  you ;  and  I  pray  him  to 
teach  you  to  understand  and  feel  grateful  to 

"Barbara." 

This  letter,  which  had  been  misplaced  by 
his  man,  was  handed  to  Dering  as  he  was 
getting  into  a  cab  on  his  way  to  look  in  at  a 
bachelor  dinner  given  by  one  of  his  friends. 
He  put  it  in  his  breast  unopened,  smiling  at 
this  piece  of  sentiment,  but  pleased  neverthe- 
less every  time  that  the  stiff  paper  made  itself 
felt  against  his  flesh. 

As  it  was  three  o'clock  a.m.  when  he 
entered  on  the  scene  of  the  feast,  he  was  not 
unprepared  for  the  reception  which  greeted 

18 


206  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

him,  and  bore  with  equanimity  the  process 
of  being  tripped  up  and  sat  upon  by  three 
hilarious  "  dudes,"  who  afterwards  stood  him 
upon  a  silver  tray  and  marched  solemnly 
around  the  room,  singing  snatches  from 
"  Harrigan  and  Hart's"  last  masterpiece. 
Dering,  who  was  jolly  and  absolutely  good- 
tempered  through  it  all,  had  a  strange  feeling 
that  Barbara's  letter  was  being  desecrated, 
and  made  his  escape  as  soon  as  possible,  after 
assisting  at  a  bombardment  of  a  picture  of 
Washington  with  jam  tarts.  He  was  a  little 
astonished,  on  thinking  it  over  during  the 
drive  back  to  his  club,  that  the  whole  per- 
formance  had  bored  him  rather.  He  had 
awakened  suddenly,  like  a  man  from  a  raptur- 
ous dream  which  had  overtaken  him  on  some 
humming  summer  noon  while  perusing  the 
last  masterpiece  in  the  way  of  witty  French 
romance, — had  awakened  drowsy,  still  thrill- 
ing from  those  vague  yet  blood-quicking  ex- 
periences, to  take  up  the  dropped  thread  of 
his  story,  and,  behold!  Atropos  or  some  as 
clever  shear-clacker  had  snipped  the  twist ! 
The  dream  had  spoiled  the  reality.  The 
bitten  place  in  the  forbidden  fruit  had  become 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  207 

brown,  leathery,  unpalatable.  Wasps  were 
nibbling  it,  an  ant  or  two  scuttled  over  its 
sleek  skin.  In  his  dream  the  fruit  was  gold 
as  his  love's  hair,  and  sweet  as  honey  through 
and  through.  What  he  took  into  his  mouth 
grew  again  as  fair,  as  luscious  in  its  ac- 
customed place,  before  he  had  swallowed  the 
first  morsel.  There  were  flowers  and  fruit  on 
the  same  branch, — Spring  and  Summer  akiss 
in  the  same  season, — desire  and  fulfilment 
ever  smiling  into  each  other's  untired  eyes, 
their  right  hands  clasped,  the  other  two  free 
among  the  leaves  of  that  wonderful  tree 
which  grows  in  the  blessed  garden  and  which 
is  called  the  Tree  of  the  Knowledge  of  Good 
and  Evil.  But  we  must  drink  down  the 
sword-flame  of  the  angel  who  guards  it,  to 
enter  and  eat  of  its  fruit,  so  being  born 
again;  having  died  of  fire,  and  from  fire 
having  sprung  again. 

By  the  time  that  he  reached  the  club, 
Dering  had  persuaded  himself  that  the  letter 
against  his  heart  contained  a  summons  from 
Barbara  to  return  at  once  to  Virginia.  He 
then  opened  and  read  it.  When  he  had 
taken  in  the  last  word,  "  Barbara,"  he  went 


208  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

and  deliberately  lighted  two  or  three  extra 
gas-burners,  and  in  this  blaze  of  light  sat 
down  to  think.  An  ugly,  snarling  expression 
came  over  his  face,  a  sort  of  grin  of  savage 
distaste  and  pain,  and  he  began  to  catch  his 
breath  nervously  with  a  hoarse  sound  that 
was  neither  sobbing  nor  laughter,  but  akin  to 
both.  He  sat  there,  without  moving,  for 
some  two  hours,  then  deliberately  undressed, 
got  into  a  cold  bath,  and  went  to  bed.  In 
three  minutes  he  was  sleeping  heavily,  from 
sheer  exhaustion,  his  face,  haggard  with  pain, 
turned  full  to  the  glare  of  the  lighted  burners. 
The  next  day  Barbara  received  this  tele- 
gram : 

"  Letter  received.  Will  answer  it  in  a  few 
days.     Hope  you  are  better.  J.  D." 

And  it  was  on  the  day  after  that  she  read 
in  the  Herald  the  following  notice : 

"A  most  serious  and  possibly  fatal  acci- 
dent occurred  to-day  on  Broadway.  A  por- 
tion of  some  scaffolding  fell  upon  the  head 
and  shoulders  of  Mr.  John  Dering,  bruising 
and  cutting  him  severely.     He  was  at  once 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  209 

taken  to  his  club,  having  no  residence  in 
town,  but  is  reported  dangerously  ill,  and  his 
mother,  who  is  now  at  Cannes  for  her  health, 
has  been  cabled  for." 

Barbara  rang  at  once  for  Barneses. 

"  I  want  a  man  to  go  immediately  with  this 
telegram/'  she  said,  in  a  clear,  slightly  loud 
voice,  signing  the  wire  as  she  spoke.  It  ran 
to  this  effect : 

"Shall  I  come  to  you?  Can  leave  this 
afternoon's  train.  B." 

After  some  agonizing  hours  of  suspense,  she 
received  this  answer : 

"  It  was  my  cousin  who  was  hurt.  Fortu- 
nately, got  your  telegram  while  I  was  there. 
Thanks  so  much.     I  write  at  once. 

"J.  D." 

"Wait!"  cried  Barbara  to  Barneses,  who 
was  leaving  the  room.  "  This  must  go  too. 
Send  some  one  else.  They  must  go  now, — 
this  moment, — before  it  gets  too  dark." 

She  snatched  up  a  bit  of  paper,  and  wrote, 
with  scrawling  eagerness, — 

18* 


210  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

"  Then  come  to  me !"        (No  signature.) 

She  sat  down  to  the  piano  and  played  a 
wild,  whirling  waltz  of  Chopin,  stopping  now 
and  then  to  laugh  hysterically  with  her  cheek 
against  her  hands  on  the  music-rack.  She 
paced  the  room,  singing  snatches  of  frenzied 
Polish  folk-songs.  Her  color  rose,  and  her 
heavy  hair,  loosening  from  its  ridgy  coil, 
swung  far  below  her  waist.  She  smiled  look- 
ing down  as  the  hair-pins  fell  on  the  carpet 
in  her  swaying  walk. 

"  They  say  one's  sweetheart  thinks  of  one 
when  one's  hair-pins  fall  out,"  she  said,  aloud. 

Suddenly  she  paused,  and  stood  still  in  the 
centre  of  the  great  room.  Only  her  glittering 
eyes  laughed  from  her  grave  face.  Then  her 
lids  dropped ;  she  seemed  to  grow  into  marble, 
as  Galatea  grew  from  marble  into  flesh. 

After  a  while  she  rang  the  bell  again  for 
Rameses :  "  I  wish  my  things  taken  out  of 
this  room, — everything.  You  can  put  them 
in  the  little  room  over  the  west  wing,  where  I 
used  to  stay,  years  ago.    Begin  now." 

When  this  devastation  was  complete,  and 
not  even  her  dressing-gown  remained  to  give 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  211 

an  air  of  individuality  to  the  little  brass  bed, 
she  turned  and  sent  that  long,  slow  gaze 
about  her  which  she  had  bestowed  on  the 
room  and  its  contents  during  the  evening  of 
her  arrival. 

She  shivered,  holding  a  shoulder  in  either 
hand  and  pressing  her  crossed  arms  closely 
to  her. 

"  It  looks  like  a  corpse  that — has — been — 
robbed/'  she  said,  whisperingly,  and  pausing 
between  each  word.  "  It  looks  horrible !  It 
looks  horrible, — horrible !" 

She  then  went  out  into  the  hall,  and  re- 
turned with  the  same  mass  of  white  satin 
and  tulle  beside  which  she  had  watched  on 
that  bitter  night,  hot  long  ago,  closing  and 
locking  the  door  after  her.  The  day  had 
been  spring-like,  and  there  had  been  no  fire 
lighted  in  the  large  fireplace,  but  she  seemed 
to  be  suddenly  chilly,  for  she  went  and 
kneeled  down  upon  the  hearth,  taking  some 
splinters  of  dry  wood  which  lay  in  a  wicker 
basket  near  by,  and  placing  them  as  though 
for  kindling.  '  As  she  did  this,  she  glanced 
restlessly  over  her  shoulder  once  or  twice, 
then  rose,  and,  lifting  the  mass  of  drapery, 


212  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

laid  it  upon  the  blazing  bits  of  wood.  It 
caught  smoulderingly  in  one  or  two  places, 
scorched  and  shrivelled,  but  died  out  in  those 
clustering  sparks  which  children  delight  to 
call  "people  going  into  church."  Then, 
stooping  forward,  she  blew  upon  it  after  the 
manner  of  Rameses;  but  this  produced  no 
effect,  beyond  making  her  eyes  smart  with 
the  smoke-puffs  which  rushed  out  into  her 
face.  She  became  excited,  nervous,  pouring 
a  box  of  matches  out  into  the  dimly-gleaming 
folds  and  throwing  a  lighted  match  among 
them.  Still  they  only  smouldered  dully; 
whereupon  she  began  to  look  eagerly  around 
for  paper  of  any  kind. 

Every  available  scrap  was  thrust  into  the 
fireplace,  and  the  fresh  bits  of  light-wood 
which  she  began  to  place  here  and  there 
burned  cheerily.  Still  the  thick  satin  only 
curled  and  shrivelled  like  a  thing  in  pain. 

Barbara  pulled  open  the  doors  of  her  desk, 
and  seized  upon  any  inflammable  thing  which 
came  to  hand ;  and  it  was  at  this  moment  that 
her  eye  fell  upon  a  large,  brass-bound  box  of 
oak  which  stood  far  under  the  low  table.  She 
dragged  it  out,  panting  in  her  excitement  and 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  213 

suspense.  It  was  full  of  letters,  yellowish  in 
tone  and  addressed  in  faded  brown  ink,  and 
as  she  looked  at  them  a  strange  expression 
came  into  her  face, — an  expression  of  grief, 
of  fright,  of  resolve. 

She  took  a  great  mass  of  them  in  her 
arms  and  approached  the  fire,  afterwards 
tearing  them  from  their  envelopes  and  crum- 
pling them  so  that  they  would  ignite  more 
quickly. 

"  All  at  once, — all  at  once !"  she  kept  whis- 
pering to  herself,  with  the  insistent  iterance 
of  a  person  in  delirium.  She  went  back  and 
forth  to  the  heavy  box  seven  or  eight  times. 
There  was  a  great  blaze  now  in  the  throat  of 
the  wide  chimney ;  the  light  tulle  whizzed  in 
flakes  of  fire  up  its  black  maw,  and  the  satin 
began  to  flame  in  places  and  to  rise  and  fall 
with  the  heat,  as  though  panting  with  a 
weird  life. 

"  All  at  once, — all  at  once, — everything, — 
everything  !"  whispered  Barbara,  as  though 
to  encourage  it.  She  kneeled  and  looked  on 
with  distended  eyes,  pushing  every  now  and 
then  another  letter  among  the  writhing  folds. 
Lastly   she   took   the   miniature   which   she 


214  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

always  wore  from  her  throat,  and  laid  it  face 
down  upon  the  mass. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said,  in  a  clear  voice, 
moving  backward  to  the  door,  but  keeping 
her  eyes  upon  that  strangely-warmed  hearth- 
stone. 

"  Good-by, — good-by, — good-by,"  she  kept 
repeating,  in  an  expressionless  tone.  She 
unlocked  the  door,  withdrew  the  key,  and, 
passing  out,  relocked  it  on  the  other  side. 

XVIII. 

Dering's  reply  came  early  the  next  morn- 
ing: 

"Expect  me  to-morrow  via  Charlottes- 
ville." (No  signature.) 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Barbara  put  on  her 
girlhood's  walking-dress,  and,  taking  Barn- 
eses with  her,  started  off  for  a  walk, — or, 
rather  one  should  say,  a  run.  She  flew  over 
the  frozen  ground,  laughing,  stumbling,  catch- 
ing her  feet  in  knotted  brambles.  Poor  Mar- 
tha Ellen,  whose  hand  she  grasped,  panted 
along  as  best  she  might,  also  laughing  hys- 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  215 

terically,  the  yellowish  glow  in  the  west 
catching  the  exhausted  roll  of  her  white  eye- 
globes. 

"I  feel  like  a  little  girl,  Kameses!,,  said 
Barbara. 

"You  sut'n'y  kin  run  like  one!"  replied 
Rameses. 

"  Yes,  I  can  run  ! — I  can  run !"  gasped  her 
mistress,  merrily.  "Why  do  you  drag  so? 
Here's  the  hill  where  we  used  to  go  black- 
berrying  when  we  were  children.  We  used 
to  wear  pink  tissue-paper  court  trains  and 
paint  our  faces  with  poke-berries :  don't  you 
remember  ?  Tra-la-la !  tra-la-la !  Keep  up, 
— keep  up,  you  monkey !  You're  dragging 
me  back  all  the  time  !  Ugh  !  it's  cold !  Do 
you  ever  wish  you  were  a  little  girl  again, 
Ramie?" 

Poor  Rameses  was  past  replying. 

A  rich  purple-blue  dusk  had  sunk  down 
over  the  land,  and  the  gleam  of  the  frozen 
ice-pond  in  a  far  field  shone  desolately  forth 
from  tangled  patches  of  orange-colored  wild 
grass.  They  could  hardly  see  the  tone  of  the 
dark-red  soil  beneath  their  feet. 

"  Faster !  faster,  you  goblin !"  urged  Bar- 


216  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

bara;  but  Barneses,  desperate  with  fatigue, 
snatched  away  her  hand,  and  her  mistress 
dashed  on  without  her. 

She  came  in  about  half  an  hour  later, 
flushed,  brilliant,  to  find  the  small  room  over 
the  west  wing  glittering  with  wax  candles, 
and  the  curtains,  of  old  green  silk  splashed 
with  large  cabbage-roses,  drawn  over  the 
narrow  windows.  Throwing  her  dog-whip 
.and  gloves  on  the  bed,  she  went  whistling 
out  into  the  narrow  corridor  that  led  to  this 
room,  and,  with  a  candle  on  the  floor, 
searched  in  some  closets  which  lined  the 
walls  on  either  side.  She  went  back  and 
forth,  carrying  several  armfuls  of  different 
fabrics  to  her  room  and  tossing  them  on 
chairs  and  sofa. 

This  room  was  delightful, — small,  square, 
with  a  low  ceiling  ornamented  in  white 
plaster-work,  its  walls  wainscoted  in  oak 
within  three  feet  of  the  ceiling,  wherefrom 
hung  old  stone  engravings,  washily  tinted,  of 
girls  and  rabbits,  girls  and  doves,  girls  and 
kittens  in  baskets,  girls  and  young  partridges, 
all  dressed  in  scant  white  gowns,  their  unique 
figures  apparently  held  together  with  diffi- 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  217 

culty  by  tight  bands  of  bright-blue  ribbon. 
A  low  toilet-table  of  French  gilt,  with  a 
large  mirror  framed  in  gilt  grapes  and  Cu- 
pids, stood  between  the  two  windows,  and  the 
six  candles  in  the  sconces  on  either  side  sent 
clear  cross-lights  upon  the  face  and  form  of 
Barbara,  as  she  stood  before  it,  twisting  up 
the  long  masses  of  her  hair  into  a  half-curled 
knot  at  the  back  of  her  fine  head. 

In  twenty  minutes  Dering  would  arrive. 
Her  windows  overlooked  the  gravelled  car- 
riage-drive, and  the  first  sound  of  wheels 
would  reach  her  ears.  She  selected  from  the 
many  dresses  on  the  sofa  one  of  rich,  peach- 
bloom-colored  Indian  silk,  a  sort  of  tea-gown, 
half  loose,  half  tight,  through  whose  folds 
the  lines  of  her  full  figure  appeared  and  dis- 
appeared with  every  movement.  From  her 
fingers  she  slipped  every  ring,  holding  up  her 
long  hands  and  shaking  them  about  to  make 
them  whiter.  The  wide  sleeves  fell  back, 
showing  her  arms,  which  were  smooth  as 
those  of  a  child  warm  with  sleep.  She 
laughed  and  kissed  them,  first  one,  then  the 
other,  still  shaking  her  hands  lightly  above 
her  head. 

19 


218  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

Then  came  a  sound  of  wheels.  In  a  mo- 
ment she  was  out  in  the  darkness  of  the  nar- 
row corridor.  She  felt  as  though  the  floor 
rose  beneath  her  feet  and  pressed  her  against 
the  slanting  roof.  She  could  scarcely  breathe, 
and  the  air  seemed  stifling.  In  a  sort  of  panic 
she  reached  the  great  hall,  and  shrunk  down 
shivering  in  a  corner  of  the  stairway,  where 
she  could  hear  Bering's  voice  in  the  hall,  the 
greetings  and  exclamations  of  Miss  Fridiswig, 
and  the  whimpering  of  the  greyhounds.  She 
waited  there  until  she  heard  him  close  the 
door  of  his  room,  when  she  rose  and  half-way 
descended  the  stairs,  rushing  back  again  to 
her  coigne  of  vantage  as  she  heard  some  one 
approaching.  The  two  greyhounds  found  her 
out,  and  crouched  down  beside  her,  licking  at 
her  handsome  bare  throat  and  ringless  hands, 
while  the  sleet  rattled  intermittently  against 
the  small  panes  in  a  narrow  window  just  over 
her  head,  and  she  could  hear  Dering  moving 
about  in  his  room,  which  was  near  the  foot 
of  the  stairs.  Presently  she  stole  down  and 
into  a  long  apartment  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  hall.  It  was  hung  in  yellow  silk, 
and  its  polished  oak  floor  was  strewn  with 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  219 

rugs  in  dull  blues  and  orange  tones  on  a  white 
ground.  There  were  many  low  lounging- 
chairs,  and  divans  heaped  with  differently- 
colored  cushions,  and  the  light  of  the  wood 
fire  licked  the  glaze  on  much  very  beautiful 
china.  She  threw  herself  into  a  drift  of  crim- 
son pillows,  and  let  her  hands  fall  palm  to 
palm  between  her  knees,  brooding  upon  the 
broken  fire,  whose  lilac  flames  palpitated  over 
a  bed  of  gold-veined  coals. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  door  opened  to 
admit  Dering,  who  entered,  closing  it  care- 
fully behind  him,  and  approached  the  fire 
with  palms  outstretched. 

"  You  must  be  nearly  frozen,"  said  Barbara, 
with  originality. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  admitted  Dering,  also  with  a 
strong  flavor  of  the  same  element. 

"  Have  you  had  some  tea  ?  I  ordered 
some  to  be  arranged  for  you  in  the  dining- 
room." 

"Yes,  thanks.  I  have  had  several  cups. 
Miss  Fridiswig  kindly  poured  them  out  for 


me." 


"Is   it   quite   warm   enough   in   here   for 


you?" 


220  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  Oh,  quite,  thanks.  It's  wonderful  how 
you  keep  this  old  house  so  comfortable." 

"  Yes,  isn't  it  ?  But  it  is  quite  comfortable, 
I  think.  One  can't  say  that  of  many  Vir- 
ginia country  houses.  Do  sit  down.  You 
look  as  though  you  were  just  going  away." 

"  I'm  not,  however." 

"  Then  sit  down.  You  make  me  nervous. 
It  must  be  dreadfully  stormy  in  New  York, 
isn't  it?" 

"  Very.  You  know  it's  snowing  now  out- 
side." 

"Sleeting,  isn't  it?" 

"  Both,  I  think." 

Suddenly  Dering  turned,  leaning  over  the 
arm  of  his  chair,  and  resting  both  hands  on 
the  arm  of  hers.  She  could  see  his  lips  quiver- 
ing, and  the  dilation  of  fiery  eyes  and  nostrils. 

"  Barbara,  you  sent  for  me,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  did,"  she  answered,  not  shrinking, 
with  her  eyes  full  on  his. 

"  What  for  ?"  he  went  on. 

"  For — this !"  she  said,  in  a  whisper  more 
stirring  than  any  tone  of  voice,  and,  throw- 
ing herself  on  her  knees  in  front  of  him, 
held  out  to  him  her  bare  and  beautiful  arms. 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  221 

"Hush!  Wait,"  said  Dering:  "let  me 
think.  Don't  move:  let  me  think."  He 
drew  away  from  her,  breathing  brokenly, 
with  an  expression  of  keen  pain  on  his  face, 
and  they  crouched  thus  for  some  moments, 
gazing  at  each  other  like  two  tigers  about  to 
spring. 

.  All  at  once  he  stooped  forward,  and,  stand- 
ing erect,  lifted  her  from  her  feet  upon  his 
breast. 

"You  love  me? — you  love  me,  then,  my 
tigress  ?" 

"  I  love  you." 

"  You  are  sure  of  yourself?  You  are  sure 
of  yourself?" 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"No,  you  are  not  sure;  you  cannot  be. 
After  that  letter, — good  God! — that  damna- 
ble letter ! — how  can  /  be  sure,  after  that 
letter?" 

"  But  /  am  sure ;  /  am  sure." 

"  You  are  changed,  you  mean.  You  may 
change  again.     How  can  I  tell  ?     No  !    I  see 

it   as   clearly Here!   listen,  you   wild 

thing! — take   your   hand   from    my   mouth. 
Ah,  you  tigress  ! — you  tigress  !    No.    Here — 

19* 


222  THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD? 

stop  ! — listen ! — listen.  You  read  that  thing 
in  the  Herald  about  Jack  Dering,  and  you 
thought  at  first  that  it  was  me,  and  your  pity 

got   the   better   of No!    stop,    I   say! 

You've  got  to  listen.  There,  I'm  sorry  if  I 
hurt  you,  but  you  must  listen.  How  beauti- 
ful you  are ! — what  hair !  what  eyes  !  what 
lips !  But  I  will  speak, — do  you  hear  ?  I 
am  stronger  than  you ;  I  am  your  master :  I 
will  speak.     It  was  pity " 

"  Jock !  kiss  me  !" 

"  It  was  pity.  You  were  sorry  for  that 
cruel  letter.     You  were " 

"  Jock  !  kiss  me !" 

"You  thought  you  would  atone.  Oh,  I 
know  some  few  things  about  women.  There, 
you  must  keep  still  until  I  finish.  I  want 
you  to  understand  that  I  loathe  your  pity, — 
I  abominate  it !  Is  that  plain  enough  ?  I 
would  rather " 

"  Jock  !  kiss  me !" 

"  I  would  rather  go  away  this  moment,  and 
never  see  you  again  in  this  world  or  the  next, 
than  compromise  on  pity  !    I  tell  you  I " 

"  Kiss  me !" 

"  I  would  rather " 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  223 

"Kiss  me!" 

"I  would  rather  see  you  belong  to  some 
one  else  than " 

"  Kiss  me  !     Kiss  me I" 

"  Than  take  one  iota  less  love  than  I  give. 
I " 

"  Ah,  kiss  me,  Jock !" 

"  I  will  have  my  love  returned  in  full, — in 
fully — do  you  understand  ?  I  am  as  proud  as 
the  devil,  and  unless  you " 

"I  love  you  more  than  anything  I  have 
ever  dreamed  of, — more  than  anything  in 
earth  or  heaven,— more  than  anything  alive 
or  dead, — or  dead  !  You  understand  ?  Now 
kiss  me !" 

He  released  her  pliant  waist  and  lifted  her 
face  to  him  with  both  hands. 

XIX. 

After  this  interview  followed  a  week  of 
delight  such  as  is  sometimes  granted  to  two 
mortals,  one  of  whom  obtains  a  love  long 
fought  for,  one  of  whom  yields  to  a  love  long 
fought  against.  Into  the  winter  of  their  dis- 
content had  stolen  a  mood  as  warmly  ex- 
quisite as  were  the  spring-like  days  which 


224  THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD? 

interrupted  the  actual  winter  weather,  and 
which  inveigled  the  lilac-buds  into  swelling 
forth  prematurely,  and  filled  the  tops  of  the 
horse-chestnuts  and  peach-trees  with  fragile, 
rose-hued  blossoms. 

Barbara  ceased  altogether  that  morbid  habit 
of  self-analysis  which  is  the  curse  of  our  cen- 
tury, and  gave  herself  without  questioning  into 
the  outstretched  arms  of  her  sudden  happiness. 
We  nowadays  self-analysts  resemble  nothing 
so  much  as  a  man  who,  hearing  a  bird  sing 
on  the  branch  of  a  fruit-tree  in  flower,  goes 
out  and  breaks  away  the  branch,  hoping  to  get 
a  nearer  view  of  the  singer.  The  bird  flies, 
and  the  blossoms  are  never  fruit.  The  man 
has  the  fact,  the  dead,  fruitless  branch,  in 
his  hand,  but  that  which  made  its  beauty, 
the  blossoms  scattered,  and  the  sweet-voiced, 
winged  thing,  are  beyond  the  reach  of  his 
scalpel. 

-Dering,  who  had  wooed  one  woman,  found 
that  he  had  won  twenty.  To-day  she  was  a 
girl  in  her  teens  hanging  her  head  beneath 
tne  first  kisses  of  her  first  lover,  to-morrow 
she  was  a  laughing  witch  who  wanted  neither 
kisses  nor  lover,  only  a  sympathetic  comrade 


THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD?  225 

who  would  appreciate  her  vagaries,  which 
were  sometimes  most  unexpected,  but  always 
charming.  One  morning  she  would  come  to 
him  grave-eyed,  subdued,  to  speak  with  a  cer- 
tain awe  of  their  future  together,  the  same 
afternoon  she  would  forbid  any  allusion  save 
to  the  present,  and  in  the  evening  tolerate  no 
mention  of  either,  demanding  Othello-like 
anecdotes  over  which  she  would  become 
breathless  and  excited,  kneeling  beside  him 
and  looking  up  with  eyes  gloriously  dark. 
Her  variety  of  beauty  bewildered  him.  Her 
very  coloring,  and  the  shade  of  her  hair,  ap- 
peared to  change  with  each  mood  and  cos- 
tume, so  that  one  day  he  seemed  affianced  to 
an  Eastern  houri  languid  in  rich  embroideries 
among  many  cushions,  and  the  next  followed 
a  modern  Atalanta  through  the  brown  vistas 
of  her  familiar  woods.  He  never  knew 
whether  his  caresses  would  be  repulsed  or 
accepted, — whether  his  remarks  would  be  re- 
ceived with  tears  or  with  laughter, — whether 
she  would  comprehend  divinely  his  half- 
spoken  thoughts  or  wilfully  misconstrue  his 
most  carefully  worded  expressions. 

Barbara  was  in  a  state  of  the  most  feverish 


226  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

exhilaration.  She  scarcely  slept.  When  she 
was  alone  she  sang  or  whistled  like  a  boy,  to 
clrown  the  voices  which  clamored  within  her. 
When  she  was  particularly  sleepless,  she  read 
books  which  Dering  had  marked,  or  wrote 
long  notes  to  him,  which  Rameses  placed  on 
his  pillow  before  he  awoke,  and  which  he  an- 
swered before  dressing. 

The  reaction  came,  however,  although  she 
fought  doggedly  against  it,  and  would  not 
admit  its  presence  even  when  it  gripped  her 
by  the  heart-strings.  Naturally  enough,  it 
was  occasioned  by  a  sudden  recognizance  of 
the  likeness  between  Dering  and  her  hus- 
band. As  the  just-accepted  lover  developed 
into  the  lover  at  his  ease,  gestures,  expressions, 
and  habits  thrust  upon  her  with  pitiless  ex- 
actitude the  memory  of  her  first  wooing.  All 
this  impressed  her  with  that  novelty  which  is 
sometimes  attendant  upon  an  old  fact  sud- 
denly mentioned  to  another  person.  He  had 
for  her  the  identical  love-words  to  which  her 
virginal  heart  had  thrilled  in  the  days  gone ; 
his  caresses  were  the  same ;  his  half-laughing, 
half-serious  allusions  to  himself  as  a  married 
man, — even  his  kisses,  and  his  tempestuous 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  227 

way  of  lifting  her  from  her  feet  upon  his 
breast.  And  yet  he  himself — he  the  man, 
the  individual — was  absolutely  different, — 
more  masterful,  more  imperious,  more  intol- 
erant of  many  things.  She  felt  like  the 
assistant  in  a  murder,  whose  accomplice  ad- 
dressed her  always,  with  ghastly  mockery,  in 
the  tones  and  manner  of  their  victim.  She 
could  not  escape ;  there  was  no  possible  way 
of  egress  from  this  labyrinth  into  which  she 
had  wandered  with  open  eyes,  for  the  clue  had 
dropped  from  her  hands  when  she  raised  them 
to  clasp  the  throat  of  her  new  lover. 

One  morning,  as  he  was  romping  with  the 
greyhounds  upon  the  lawn,  waiting  for  her  to 
appear,  she  rushed  out  towards  him,  her  hair 
half  loose  in  the  soft  wind,  which  smelled  of 
young  leaves  and  the  wool  of  some  sheep  that 
were  cropping  the  withered  grass  under  the 
acacias.  Her  face  was  pulsing  with  color,  her 
eyes  bright  and  eager  as  those  of  a  dog  that 
foresees  a  walk. 

"  I  have  such  an  idea !"  she  cried,  taking 
his  arm  into  her  ungloved  hands  and  pressing 
against  his  side.  "  We  have  never  been  on  a 
straw-stack  together.     Let  us  go.     Let  us  run 


228  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

all  tlie  way.  There  is  such  a  beauty  in  the 
mill-field !  And  it  has  been  dry  and  warm 
so  long,  it  will  be  so  nice  to  slide  upon.  It  is 
so  £>retty  there ;  and  we  can  hear  the  mill- 
wheel  :  Aunt  Caroline  is  having  some  flour 
ground  for  brown-bread  to-day." 

They  ran,  laughing  and  teasing  one  another 
like  two  children,  along  the  broad  red  road 
that  curved  beyond  the  back  of  the  house, 
overhung  by  great  catalpa  and  black-walnut 
trees,  and  hemmed  in  by  an  unusually  eccen- 
tric snake  fence.  The  hills  showed  a  faint 
green  bloom  here  and  there  along  their  sides, 
and  the  young  apple-trees  in  the  new  orchard 
held  out  now  and  then  a  silvery  small  leaf. 
They  reached  the  straw-stack,  and  began  to 
scramble  up,  arriving  at  the  top  panting  and 
covered  with  dust  and  bits  of  straw.  She  sank 
into  the  arms  which  he  held  out  for  her,  and, 
pressing  down  the  collar  of  his  silk  shirt, 
rested  her  wordless  lips  in  the  hollow  at  the 
base  of  his  strong  throat. 

"  I  love  you, — I  love  you,"  said  each,  cling- 
ing to  the  other ;  and  then  she  settled  con- 
tentedly down,  with  her  head  against  his 
knees,  and   let  one  of  the  greyhound  pups 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  229 

curl  up  between  her  languid,  outstretched 
arms. 

"Suppose  Mr.  Beanpoddy  could  see  you 
now !"  she  said,  after  some  moments  of  this 
delicious  inertia,  "  or  some  of  your  dude 
friends!  I  would  like  to  see  the  puppies 
attack  their  spatts.  Do  you  suppose  any- 
thing ever  smelled  quite  as  nice  as  a  straw- 
stack  ?" 

"  Yes, — your  hair  does.  What  do  you  put 
on  it?" 

"Soap  and  water." 

"  Oh,  Barbara !  do  you  want  me  to  believe 
all  this  is  only  due  to  Pears  and  your  cistern?" 

"  Indeed,  indeed  I  don't  perfume  my  hair, 
Jock.  I  think  it's  so  vulgar.  I  hope  it  doesn't 
smell  like  that !" 

"Like  what?" 

"  As  though  it  were  all  horrid  and  Lubin's- 
Extracty." 

"That  is  as  original  a  compound  verb  as 
the  one  Punch's  little  girl  made  use  of  a  year 
ago." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know, — the  one  about  Liebig's- 
Extract-of-Beefing  it.  Jock,  I  think  it  would 
be  so  charming  to  slide  down  here  together." 

20 


230  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"Do  you?    Well " 


They  began  their  descent,  first  sedately, 
then  in  a  whirling  rush  which  landed  them 
under  an  avalanche  of  loose  straw. 

"  Isn't — it — fun  !"  she  gasped,  as  they 
climbed  up  again. 

"  Your  hair's  down.  Lord !  how  long  it  is  ! 
I  could  tie  you  to  me  with  it.     Look  here." 

He  divided  the  heavy  masses  and  drew 
them  about  his  throat,  then  released  her,  hor- 
rified at  the  sudden  whiteness  of  her  face. 

"  Barbara !  what's  the  matter  ?" 

"  Nothing, — I, — nothing, — nothing  at  all." 

"  That's  absolute  nonsense,  my  dear.  You 
know  you   really  can't   put  me  off  in   that 

absurd  way.     Barbara "     He  paused,  a 

sudden  look  of  intelligence  creeping  over  his 
face.  "See  here,  Barbara:  I've  thought 
something  once  or  twice.  Are  you  trying  to 
fancy  that  I'm  Valentine  Pomfret  ?" 

At  this  she  turned  on  him  a  look  so  full  of 
reproach,  anguish,  and  entreaty  that  he  was 
frozen  with  a  sense  of  his  brutality. 

"Barbara,  forgive  me!"  he  said,  reaching 
out  for  her ;  but  she  held  him  away,  with  her 
open  hand. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  231 

"  It  was  so  cruel  !"  she  managed  to  whisper 
at  last,  with  chattering  teeth. 

"  My  God  !  I  know  it  was !  Can  you  for- 
give me  ?" 

She  withdrew  her  hand,  and  began  press- 
ing it  with  short  convulsive  movements  upon 
the  other. 

"  Can't  you  forgive  me  ?"  said  poor  Dering. 

Still  she  sat  wordless,  her  handsome  throat 
swelling  with  some  repressed  feeling. 

"  I — I — have  tried  to  think  that,"  she  said, 
after  a  while. 

Dering's  face  changed. 

"  You  have  ?"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,   but— I— could   not.      I   found — 

I "     She   stopped  a  moment,  and   then 

went  on,  looking  steadily  at  him,  "  I  found 
I  did  not  want  to." 

"Barbara!" 

"  I  did  not  want  to  think  of  you  as  any 
one  else.  I  did  not  want  any  one  else.  I 
wanted  you."  She  paused  again,  adding,  in 
a  whisper,  "  I  want  you." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  she  felt  the 
great  throbs  of  his  heart  against  her  face. 

"  I  want  you  ! — I  want  you !"  she  went  on, 


232  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

incoherently, — "  forever, — forever, —  forever ! 
Only  you !  Oh,  Jock,  if  you — if  you  die,  you 
know  I  will  be  true  to  you  f.  Hush !  don't 
answer.  How  can  you  know?  My  God! 
how  can  you  know  ?" 

"  I  do  know,"  said  Dering,  stoutly,  braced 
by  the  belief  which  sustains  every  lover, — the 
belief  that  the  woman  who  loves  him  loves 
him  more,  and  better,  and  differently  from  the 
way  in  which  she  has  ever  loved  or  ever  will 
love  any  man  again. 

"  I  do  know,  my  darling,"  he  repeated ;  but 
she  sobbed  on,  clinging  to  him :  "  No,  no ! 
you  cannot !  you  cannot !  And  I — I  can  never 
prove  it  to  you !" 

"  I  would  not  have  a  proof.  I  do  not  want 
one.  I  would  not  accept  it  if  you  could  give 
it  to  me.  I  wish  I  could  make  you  under- 
stand how  thoroughly  I  comprehend  all  your 
struggles  and  feelings.  But  you  must  not 
think  that  you  only  suffer." 

"  It  is  because  I  grieve  you  that  I  suffer," 
she  replied,  still  hiding  her  face.  "All  the 
little  pleasure  that  I  have  given  you  cannot 
pay  for  the  pain.  You  think  I  don't  know 
that ;  but,  oh,  I  do  !— I  do  !" 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  233 

"  You  only  give  me  pain  when  you  speak 
in  this  way,"  said  Dering,  caressing  her  bowed 
head.  "You  only  give  me  pain  when  you 
think  that  you  are  anything  but  a  joy,  a 
blessing  to  me, — the  very  light  of  my  life.  I 
not  only  love  you,  I  actually  adore  you !  Why, 
I  swore  once  that,  no  matter  what  a  woman 
was  to  me,  I  would  never  kiss  her  feet ;  and 
look  here !  and  here !"  And,  before  she  could 
prevent  him,  he  had  stooped  and  pressed  his 
lips,  now  on  one  foot,  now  on  the  other ;  then, 
kneeling  up,  he  kissed  her  dress,  her  knees, 
her  waist,  her  arms,  while  she  bent  over  him, 
panting,  intoxicated,  half  reassured. 

It  was  in  some  such  way  that  nearly  all 
their  misunderstandings  ended. 

XX. 

It  was  quite  late  on  an  afternoon  of  the 
next  week  that  a  sudden  heavy  shower  over- 
took them  while  out  riding.  As  they  were 
near  the  pretty,  Gothic  church  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, they  fastened  their  horses  and  took 
shelter  within  its  doors,  which  they  found 
open.  After  about  twenty  minutes  of  cease- 
less downpour,  Dering  insisted  on  remounting 

20* 


234  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

his  horse  and  riding  back  to  Rosemary  for  a 
trap  of  some  kind,  and  thus  Barbara  was  left 
to  a  possible  hour  of  rather  dreary  waiting. 
She  became  tired  of  her  post  on  an  old  oak 
settle  near  the  open  doors,  and  wandered  up 
into  the  organ-loft.  It  was  gray  with  cob- 
webs and  littered  with  melancholy  bits  of 
bread  soaked  in  strychnine,  which  had  been 
left  there  for  the  delectation  of  the  rats.  She 
found  the  organ  unlocked,  and  thought  she 
would  see  if  she  could  get  the  sexton  to  pump 
for  her,  so  went  cautiously  down  the  crooked 
and  dusty  stairway,  wondering  at  the  sudden 
darkness  which  enveloped  it,  to  find  the 
church  doors  closed.  Her  heart  leaped  vio- 
lently, then  settled  into  heavy  beating,  and, 
looking  back  into  the  darkening  church,  she 
felt  with  both  hands  for  the  fastening.  It 
was  secure,  and  from  the  outside.  Barbara, 
who  had  from  her  childhood  entertained  an 
especial  horror  of  being  locked  into  even  a 
bright  and  daylighted  room,  felt  a  cold  horror, 
as  strong  as  it  was  unreasoning,  creep  up  within 
her.  She  ran  hurriedly  out  into  the  aisle  of 
the  church,  which  was  not  so  gloomy  as  that 
little  passage  near  the  door,  and  stood  still, 


THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD?  235 

with  her  hand  on  the  back  of  one  of  the  pews, 
trying  to  think  what  she  had  best  do.  It 
was  not  long  before  she  remembered  that 
through  the  vestry-room  she  might  make 
her  escape,  and,  hurrying  forward,  found  the 
entrance  to  it  also  locked. 

The  rain  was  now  falling  more  heavily  than 
ever,  and  sheets  of  bluish  lightning  threw  into 
pale  relief  the  tall  windows,  with  their  lead- 
framed  panes  of  glass,  showed  her  the  large 
black  letters  on  the  three  white  marble  tablets 
over  the  altar,  but  failed  to  penetrate  the 
arches  of  the  vaulted  roof,  from  which  the 
gloom  seemed  to  hang  like  dust-clogged  cob- 
webs. 

"  I  will  be  quite  quiet,  I  will  be  quite  col- 
lected," she  said  to  herself.  "  I  will  go  in  my 
pew  and  sit  down.  Perhaps  I  will  fall  asleep, 
and  then  Jock  will  come  and  laugh  at  me, 
and  we  will  have  such  a  gay,  cosey  drive 
home  together."  There  were  other  thoughts 
which  came  huddling  about  her,  whimpering 
for  admittance,  and  which,  when  refused, 
threatened  with  ugly  grins  and  cries  of  rage. 
"  I  will  be  quite  quiet, — quite  calm,"  she  re- 
peated, this  time  aloud.     "I  will   take   this 


236  THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD  f 

prayer-book  in  my  hands  and  kneel  down, — 
and  then  I  will  count  a  hundred  ;  and  by  that 
time  Jock  will  come."  She  kneeled  down, 
resting  her  forehead  on  the  large,  old-fashioned 
prayer-book,  and  listening  to  the  gushing  of 
the  rain  from  the  sloping  roof. 

The  lightning  increased,  grew  sharper  in  its 
darts,  and  was  now  followed  by  low  thunder. 
All  at  once  a  noise  attracted  her, — a  rattling 
at  the  church  doors.  Starting  up,  she  ran 
down  the  long  aisle,  dragging  over  a  foot- 
bench  in  her  haste,  but  undeterred  by  its 
echoing  crash. 

"  It's  me  —  it's  Barbara,  Jock.  Open, 
quick !" 

A  renewed  rattling  was  her  only  answer, 
followed  by  a  long,  plaintive  whine  from  the 
dog  outside  that  was  scratching  for  admit- 
tance. This  unexpected  reply  so  startled  her 
that  she  could  not  repress  a  broken  cry,  and 
rushed  back  again  into  the  body  of  the  church, 
involuntarily  lifting  her  hands  to  her  ears 
as  she  ran.  A  beseeching  and  heart-broken 
howl  from  the  lonely  dog  followed  her,  its 
quavering  fall  absorbed  in  a  ponderous  roll  of 
thunder  which  jarred  along  under  her  feet. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  237 

Then  came  a  heavier  rush  of  rain,  and  the 
sound  of  a  wind  rousing  itself  along  the  sod- 
den leaf-carpet  outside.  Only  the  general  out- 
lines of  the  reading-desks  and  the  great  tablets 
were  now  to  be  discerned,  save  in  the  flickers 
of  lightning  which  seemed  to  soak  with  an 
unnatural  gleam  all  objects  upon  which  they 
fell.  Again  the  dog  howled,  and  again  the 
thunder  drowned  its  long  note. 

"He  is  nearly  here  now,"  said  Barbara, 
who  was  again  seated  in  her  own  pew.  "  He 
is  just  driving  through  Machunk  Creek. 
Now  he  is  coming  up  the  long  hill.  Now  he 
has  turned  into  the  lane.  Now  he  is  coming 
into  the  church-yard.     Now " 

She  was  here  startled  by  the  bajBed  dog, 
who  leaped  up  at  the  window  near  which  she 
was  sitting,  huug  by  its  paws  on  the  ledge 
for  a  moment,  and  then  dropped  whining 
back  upon  the  ground  without.  The  sight 
of  that  dark  head  and  those  clutching  paws 
horrified  her  inexpressibly,  and  she  rushed 
and  crouched  down  on  the  altar  steps,  trem- 
bling in  every  fibre.  The  next  lightning- 
flare  that  swept  the  church  fixed  the  great 
letters  on  the  white  tablets  upon  her  inner 


238  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

lids,  and  thrust  upon  her  a  memory  against 
which  she  had  been  fighting  ever  since  find- 
ing herself  locked  in,  and  which  coursed 
backward  through  her  veins  as  though  ice- 
water  had  been  injected  into  them. 

The  last  time  that  she  had  followed  the 
outlines  of  those  sombre  characters,  she  had 
been  standing  before  this  altar  as  a  bride. 
She  could  see  the  whole  scene  as  distinctly 
as  though  she  were  at  the  very  moment  play- 
ing her  part  in  it, — could  see  the  kindly, 
earnest  face  of  the  minister  who  had  married 
them,  even  to  a  wart  upon  one  of  his  nostrils, 
and  a  curious  habit  he  had  of  drawing  his 
large  chin  into  folds, — could  see  her  father's 
face,  wit]fc  its  anxious  expression  and  softly- 
curling  gray  hair,  through  which  the  morn- 
ing light  shone  whitely,  and  which  contrasted 
so  well  with  his  fresh  and  wind-reddened  skin, 
— saw  her  husband's  hand  as  it  held  her  own 
(she  had  not  looked  at  his  face  during  the 
ceremony), — saw  the  little  rip  in  one  of  her 
lace  flounces,  where  it  had  caught  in  the  car- 
riage door, — heard  the  voice  of  the  man  who 
had  been  her  husband, — a  voice  rich  and 
earnest  and  unusual, — "  I  Valentine  take  thee 


THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD?  239 

Barbara  to  my  wedded  wife,  to  have  and  to 
hold,  from  this  day  forward,  for  better  for 
worse,  for  richer  for  poorer,  in  sickness  and 
in  health,  to  love  and  to  cherish  till  death 
us  do  part."  Ah !  she  heard  more.  She 
felt  him  lean  to  her  when  they  had  stepped 
into  the  carriage  and  were  out  of  sight  and 
hearing  of  all  others, — felt  the  very  breath  of 
his  words  against  her  cheek  : 

"Death  will  not  part  us,  Barbara.  We 
will  laugh  in  his  face,  my  Barbara, — my 
wife, — my  Barbara, — my  brave  girl.  What 
is  Death  to  Love  ?  It  will  be  only  a  little, 
lonely  waiting  for  whichever  of  us  goes  first. 
He  cannot  part  us,  sweetheart;  he  cannot 
part  us." 

She  thought  she  heard  his  voice  close  at 
her  ear : 

"  Death  cannot  part  us,  Barbara." 

"  Now  he  is  coming  through  the  double 
gate,"  she  said,  aloud.  "  Now  he's  driving 
very  fast  over  that  good  bit  of  road.  Now 
he's  turning  into  the  Greysons'  field.  Now 
he  is  coming  up  the  church  hill.  Now  he  is 
turning  in  at  the  gate." 

The  dog  under  the  window  howled  again, 


240  TEE  QUICK  OR   TEE  DEAD? 

and  again  the  voice  at  her  ear  seemed  to  say, 
as  though  to  cheer  her, — 

"  Death  cannot  part  us,  Barbara." 
She  kneeled  up,  grasping  the  altar  rail 
with  both  hands,  and  making  a  tremendous 
effort  at  self-control.  "Dear  God,  please 
take  care  of  me,  and  bless  me,  and  be  good 
to  me,"  she  said,  in  the  childish  voice  which 
came  to  her  whenever  she  was  suffering.  "  I 
have  not  done  any  one  any  harm.  I  have 
tried  to  be  good.  Please  ask  Val  to  forgive 
me.  He  does  not  care  for  me  as  a  wife  any 
longer.  Please  ask  him  to  think  of  me 
kindly.  Please  make  him  think  of  me 
kindly.  Please  make  him  forget  about  me. 
Please,  if  I  have  done  wrong,  forgive  me. 
Don't  let  these  thoughts  come  to  me  any 
more,  and  let  Jock  come  soon.  And  don't 
let  me  have  to  wait  here  very  long.  And 
please  be  good  to  me,  and  show  me  how  to  be 
good."  She  was  rambling  on,  comforted  by 
the  mere  sound  of  the  words  which  she  ut- 
tered, but  when  she  paused  to  take  breath  she 
heard  more  distinctly  than  ever  those  words, 
"  Death  cannot  part  us,  Barbara." 

"  Oh,  please,  Val ! — oh,  please,  Val !"  she 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  241 

began,  piteously.     "Oh,  God,  don't  let  him 

be  angry  with  me, — for  Christ's  sake !     Oh, 

Val,  it  was  so  lonely  !     /  would  forgive  you, 

/would  want  you  to  be  happy.     We  will  all 

love  each  other  in  heaven,  in  a  different  way. 

It  was  so  lonely, — oh,  it  was  so  lonely  !     You 

don't  know  how  I  missed  everything !  I  had 

to  drink   my  tea  all   alone,  and   it  was   so 

dreadful  in  the  dark  nights ;  and  I  thought 

of  you,  and  thought  of  you,  until  my  heart 

seemed   bursting.     You  don't  know  how  I 

longed  for  you,  Val.     I  used  to  pray  you  to 

come  to  me, — you  must  have  heard  me, — and 

you  never  came  until  now, — until  now  when  it 

seems  so  dreadful.    I  wish  you  would  ask  God 

to  let  me  die.     I  wish  you  would  try  not  to 

hate  me,  Val.     He  looked  so  like  you no, 

that  isn't  honest,  because  afterwards  I 

No !  no !    Don't  say  it  any  more,  Val !  don't 

say  it  any  more !    I  will  be  good.     Will  you 

take  me  back  ?     Oh,  Val,  Val !  I  cannot  do 

it !     I  cannot  marry  any  one  else  !     I'm  not 

such  a  bad  woman  as  you  think !     I  can't 

do  that.     I  couldn't  help  wanting  to,  but  I 

can  help  doing  it, — I  can  help  doing  it.     If 

you  will  only  come  to  me  sometimes  !     It  was 
21 


242  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

so  lonely  !  I'm  afraid  of  the  dark.  I  missed 
you  so, — I  was  so  lonely, — all  the  time,  all 
the  time  !  I  won't  marry  him,  Val.  If  you'll 
only  forgive  me  and  take  me  back — no,  if 
you'll  only  forgive  me — I'll  do  it  if  you'll 
only  forgive  me.  Indeed  I  will !  Indeed  I 
will !  Please,  Val,  don't  think  I  really  meant 
to  marry  him.  I  never  really  meant  to 
marry  him.  I  thought  I  did,  but  I  couldn't 
have  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  Oh,  I  was 
so  wicked  even  to  think  of  it !  But  you  re- 
member how  I  felt  at  first.  Oh,  I  hated  my- 
self!— I  hated  myself!  I  tried  so  hard — oh, 
I  did  try, — I  did  try.  It  was  because  he 
looked  like  you  at  first.  He  looked  so  like 
you,  I  thought  it  was  you  at  first ;  I  thought 
you  had  come  back.  I  have  been  so  wicked  ! 
— so  wicked!  But  I  will  stop.  I  will  be 
good.  Please,  Val ! — please,  Val !  Please, 
God,  don't  let  him  laugh  at  me.     Oh,  Val, 

don't  laugh  at  me  ! " 

When  Dering  at  first  stooped  over  her,  as 
she  lay,  face  down,  along  the  altar  steps,  he 
thought  that  she  was  dead. 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  243 

XXI. 

Barbara  was  unconscious  for  several  hours, 
and  when  she  at  last  came  to  her  senses  her 
first  rational  wish  was  to  see  Dering.  Al- 
though it  was  then  midnight,  she  insisted 
upon  being  helped  into  the  room  where  she 
had  received  him  on  the  evening  of  his  arri- 
val, her  rich  hair  hanging  down  over  her 
dressing-gown  of  white  silk,  and  straying 
here  and  there  among  the  bluish-gray  fur 
with  which  it  was  trimmed,  like  thin  veins 
of  fire  through  curling  ashes.  Her  face  was 
very  pale,  her  eyes  dark,  wide,  with  un- 
flickering  lids  spread  above  them  as  though 
held  in  place  by  the  slightly-lifted  eyebrows. 
Dering  came  and  knelt  gently  and  dumbly 
beside  her,  attempting  to  lift  the  loosened 
hands  which  lay  along  her  lap.  She  with- 
drew them  slowly,  and  clasped  them  together 
below  her  breast. 

"  Perhaps  I  worry  you/'  he  said,  alarmed 
at  the  dreadful  unvaryingness  of  her  attitude 
and  expression.  "Suppose  we  don't  try  to 
talk  to-night?" 

"  We  must  talk  to-night/'  she  said,  dully. 


244  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"  But,  dearest,  we  can  say  everything  just 
as  well  to-morrow.  Let  me  help  you  up- 
stairs." 

"  There  won't  be  any  to-morrow,"  she 
answered,  still  in  the  same  dull  voice. 

Dering  tried  again  to  take  her  hands. 
"  My  poor  darling !  what  an  awful  shock  you 
must  have  had  I" 

"  It  was  very  dreadful,"  she  said. 

"My  poor  love!  I  know  it  was!  Won't 
you  give  me  your  hands,  darling  ?  I  want  to 
hold  them  and  warm  them.  You  look  so  cold !" 

"  Yes, — that  is  it :  I  am  so  cold.  Wait  : 
you  may  have  one  of  my  hands, — the  left  one. 

Wait  a  minute, — until  I  find "  she  was 

groping  with  tremulous  fingers  in  the  breast 
of  her  gown.  "  Here  it  is,"  she  said,  finally, 
and  held  out  to  him  her  open  palm,  on  which 
lay  a  plain  gold  ring. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  is  this  ?  What  must 
I  do  ?"  said  Dering,  startled.  "  What  ring  is 
it?" 

"  I  want  you  to  put  it  on.  It  is  my  wed- 
ding-ring." 

"  Barbara !  Good  God !  my  dear  girl, 
what   do   you    mean  ?     I'm  afraid  you  are 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  245 

cj 

awfully  ill.  Let  me  call  some  one.  «For  God's 
sake,  do,  there's  a  good  child  !" 

She  motioned  him  to  come  back.  "  Don't 
call  any  one.  I  am  not  ill.  I  know  exactly 
what  I  am  doing.  That  is  my  wedding-ring. 
I  took  it  off.  You  must  put  it  on  again  ;  you 
must !"  she  said,  with  the  first  note  of  a  rising 
excitement  in  her  voice. 

Dering  was  very  white,  and  he  set  his  teeth 
until  his  ears  sang. 

"I  think  you  very  ill,"  he  answered,  at 
length,  in  a  controlled  voice.  "  I  do  not  know 
what  you  mean." 

"  But  I  do !"  she  cried,  half  rising ;  "  I  do ! 
God  has  told  me :  he  told  me  in  those  awful 
hours  in  the  church, — when  you  did  not  come 
to  me ! — when  you  did  not  come  to  me !" 

"  I  came  as  soon  as  I  could.  It  was  pitch- 
dark,  and  the  roads  like  rivers.  Barbara, 
you  break  my  heart  when  you  speak  to  me 
like  this !" 

She  looked  at  him,  relapsing  once  more 
into  her  first  stolidity  of  voice  and  manner : 

"Hearts  don't   break.     That  is  what  you 

would   call   a — 'a  chestnut.'"     She  did  not 

smile,  and  continued  to  look  seriously  ud  at 
21* 


246  THE  QUICK  OB  THE  DEAD? 

him,  the  ring  still  lying  on  her  relaxed  palm. 
He  had  a  horrible  revulsion  of  feeling,  and 
felt  his  mouth  beginning  to  twist  into  that 
strangely  distorted  grin  which  characterized 
him  in  moments  of  violent  emotion.  He 
turned  away,  pretending  to  arrange  a  fold 
in  one  of  the  rugs. 

"  It  strikes  me  as  almost  coarse,  the  use  of 
such  an  expression  at  such  a  time/'  he  said, 
finally,  in  rather  a  hard  voice. 

"Does  it?  Does  it?"  she  said,  a  little 
curiously.  "You  know  I  told  you  I  was 
coarse  once " 

"  Barbara !"  was  all  that  he  could  reply. 

"  I  do  think  I  have  been  honest,"  she  went 
on.  "  I  told  you  word  for  wrord  how  I  felt 
about  Val, — how  I  could  not  forget  him.  I 
told  you  how  he  haunted  me.  I  told  you 
we  could  never  be  happy.  Women  cannot 
forget,  even  if  they  want  to, — at  least,  not 
women  like  me.  I  think  I  must  be  an  awful 
thing, — an  unnatural  thing.  I  sometimes 
wonder  if  God  made  me  for  an  experiment : 
only  that  couldn't  be  if  he  knows  everything 
beforehand,  could  it?  No,  please  don't  stop 
me ;  I  feel  as  if  I  could  say  it  all  now,  better 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  247 

than  I  ever  could  again.  I  saw  everything 
this  evening  in  the  church.  I  was  so  fright- 
ened! He  spoke  to  me.  I  know  what  I 
must  do.  I  see  how  wicked  I  have  been.  I 
have  been  coarse :  it  is  wicked  for  a  woman 
to  be  coarse.  I  don't  see  how  you  could  have 
wanted  me.  I  was  his — I  was  his  first — I 
was  his  wife.  I  couldn't  be  your  wife  too.  I 
couldn't  forget.  I  burned  up  my  wedding- 
dress  and  his  picture,  but  something  made 
me  keep  my  ring.  I  know  now  what  made 
me  keep  it.  I  have  been  very  wicked.  I 
know  you  will  hate  me, — you  look  at  me  so 
horribly.  Somehow  I  am  not  afraid :  I  will 
never  be  afraid  of  anything  again;  I  will 
never  be " 

Dering  leaned  over,  seized  her  firmly  by 
the  wrists,  and  pulled  her  to  her  feet.  Her 
wedding-ring  struck  sharply  on  the  polished 
floor  between  them. 

"If  you  are  not  mad,"  he  said,  slowly, 
"  you  are  the  most  unutterably  cruel  creature 
I  ever  imagined."  But  his  words  seemed 
not  to  impress  her.  She  swayed  about  in  his 
fierce  hold,  peering  from  side  to  side  for  the 
fallen  ring. 


248  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

"I  must  not  lose  that!  It's  all  I  have," 
she  said.  "  Won't  you  let  me  go,  just  until  I 
find  it?" 

He  threw  her  from  him  with  an  inarticulate 
cry,  all  the  more  savage  for  being  smothered. 
He  felt  at  that  moment  that  he  did  hate  her, 
and  the  firelight  on  her  long  red  hair  seemed 
a  baleful  and  odious  thing  as  it  glistened  and 
moved,  with  the  lithe  curves  of  her  figure, 
while  she  crawled  about,  looking  for  her  lost 
ring. 

"  I  can't  find  it !"  she  said  at  last,  gazing 
helplessly  up  at  him,  and  kneeling  back  on 
her  heels,  with  her  hands  twisted  nervously 
together  between  her  knees.  "That's  gone 
too  !  I  haven't  anything  left !  I  think  God 
might  let  me  die  !" 

"  Perhaps  he  thinks  you  might  change  your 
mind  after  you  were  dead,"  suggested  Dering, 
savagely. 

But  her  only  answer  was  to  go  on  groping 
helplessly  about,  murmuring  from  time  to 
time,  "  I  can't  find  it !  I  can't  find  it !  and  it's 
all  I  have !" 

"Barbara,"  he  said,  after  some  moments 
of  silent  waiting,  "  I  wish  to  understand  you 


THE  QUICK  OR  THE  BEAD?  249 

thoroughly.  You  wish  me  to  go  away  ?  You 
wish  everything  to  be  ended  between  us  ?" 

"I  don't  wish  anything,"  she  answered, 
shaking  her  head  with  brows  drawn  piteously 
upward.  "  I  am  only  trying  to  do  what  is 
right." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  right  to  ruin  a  man's 
whole  life  through  sheer  morbidness  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  how  I  feel !  You 
can't  know  how  I  feel !  He  said  death  could 
not  separate  us ;  and  it  can't !  Why,  I  have 
been  his  wife, — his  wife  /" 

"Don't  you  suppose  I  know  that?"  said 
Dering,  fiercely.  "  How  many  times  do  you 
suppose  that  has  come  to  me  ?  Good  God ! 
are  women  human,  I  wonder?" 

"  I  meant  to  do  right,"  she  faltered,  great 
tears  springing  to  her  eyes.  "You  don't 
know  how  dreadful  it  is  to  remember  that 
you  have  been  one  man's  wife,  when  you  are 
thinking  of  being  another's.  I  think  God 
has  been  very  cruel  to  me.  Oh,  he  has !  he 
has !" 

"And  what  do  you  think  he  has  been  to 
me  ?"  said  Dering,  grinning ;  then,  with  a 
strong  motion  of  his  arm,  as  though  flinging 


250  THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD? 

something  hampering  from  him,  "No!  I'll 

be  d d  if  I'll  shift  it  all  on  Providence ! 

What  do  you  think  you  have  been  to  me  ?" 

"A  curse,"  she  whispered,  nodding  her 
head  sagaciously  in  a  way  that  struck  him 
as  horrible.  "  Yes,  I  know  I've  been  a  curse 
to  you.  But  I've  never  been  your  wife ;  and 
then  men  forget.  You  are  so  young.  Just 
think  how  dreadful  it  would  have  been  for 
me  to  marry  you,  and  then  for  you  to  have 
found — out — this !" 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  would  have  been  rather 
unpleasant,"  he  admitted.  Great  drops  stood 
on  his  forehead  and  under  his  eyes,  but  his 
voice  and  manner  were  very  quiet. 

"You  see,  everything  can  be  worse,"  she 
said.  "  When  people  used  to  say  that,  it 
sounded  so  meaningless  to  me,  as  if  it  were 
cant ;  but  it  is  so  true.  If  I  had  married  you  it 
would  have  been  ten  thousand  times  worse." 

"  And  yet  you  said  you  loved  me !"  he  burst 
forth,  in  a  sort  of  rage. 

"And  I  did!  I  did!  You  don't  think  I 
didn't?"  she  said,  pausing  in  her  re-begun 
search,  with  a  species  of  dull  surprise.  "  I 
did  love  you." 


THE  QUICK  OB   THE  DEAD?  251 

"  Did  you,  indeed  ?"  said  Dering,  harshly. 
"It  seems  there  are  some  things  women  can 
get  over,  after  all.  I  suppose  a  man  must  die 
and  haunt  them  to  be  remembered." 

"  But  you  do  believe  I  loved  you  ?  You  do 
believe  that  ?" 

"I  did  believe  it,"  he  said,  with  rough 
emphasis. 

"  But  don't  you  believe  it  now  ?"  she  said, 
anxiously.  "  I  don't  feel  anything  now,  but 
L  know  I  loved  you.  Indeed,  indeed,  I'm  not 
so  bad  as  you  think ;  and  I  must  have  loved 
you,  to  act  as  I  did :  it  all  proves  that  I  did. 
I  can't  help  not  doing  it  now ;  I  can't  help 
not  being  sorry,  or  glad,  or  frightened,  or 
anything,  now.  You  know  I  wrote  you  once 
in  a  letter  that  I  didn't  feel  anything.  But  I 
know  I  loved  you." 

"  I  believe  you  are  crazy,"  said  Dering,  in 
a  strangled  voice. 

"  I  wish  I  thought  so,"  she  said,  plaintively; 
"  but  I  know  I'm  not.  I'm  just  stunned  now, 
because  I  have  been  on  such  a  terrible  strain 
for  so  long,  but  my  mind  is  as  clear — as  cool. 
I  see  everything ;  I  see  just  how  it  would  all 
have  been ;  and  I  see  how  you  are  obliged  to 


252  THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD? 

hate  me  at  first.  I  would  if  I  were  you.  You 
can't  help  it.  I  don't  feel  angry  with  you 
because  you  hate  me :  it  would  be  unnatural 
if  you  did  not ;  and  then  it  will  keep  it  from 
hurting  you  so.  I  would  a  great  deal  rather 
have  you  hate  me  than  hurt  you." 

"  Would  you  ?"  said  Dering. 

"Yes,  I  would, — I  would.  You  don't 
believe  it,  but  I  would." 

"  It  is  hard  to  believe  some  things,"  was  his 
reply.  "  I  think,  if  you  will  be  good  enough 
to  lend  me  a  trap,  that  I  will  drive  to  Char- 
lottesville." 

"To-night?"  she  said,  pausing  again  to 
look  at  him. 

"Yes,  to-night.  Perhaps  you  can  under- 
stand a  feeling  that  I  have  against  sleeping 
another  night  in  this  house." 

"  It's  because  I'm  in  it,"  she  said,  sadly. 
"  I  don't  blame  you.  I  don't  blame  you  in 
the  least." 

"That  is  very  good  of  you,"  he  re- 
marked, acridly.  "  Can  I  hope  your  gen- 
erosity will  extend  to  the  loan  I  have  just 
asked  for?" 

"  You  are  really  going  to-night  ?" 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  253 

"  If  you  will  kindly  lend  me  a  trap  and 
horse,  and  some  one  to  open  gates." 

"  You  can  order  what  you  wish,"  she  said, 
slowly. 

"  Thanks,"  he  replied.  "  I  suppose  I  may 
shake  your  hand  ?" 

She  held  it  out  to  him  silently. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said ;  then,  after  a  pause, 
"  good-by,  Barbara." 

"  Good-by,"  she  answered,  looking  down  at 
their  clasped  hands. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  once  more ;  once  more 
she  answered  him,  still  keeping  her  eyes  on 
their  hands,  which  now  fell  apart  silently. 
He  went  to  the  door,  and  passed  out,  only  to 
re-enter  stumblingly,  to  catch  her  to  him,  to 
bruise  her  face  and  throat  with  short,  hard 
kisses. 

"  I  love  you !"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  terri- 
ble anguish.  "I  am  a  coward :  I  love  you 
in  spite  of  everything !  Oh,  Barbara,  Bar- 
bara, you  will  be  so  sorry  for  this  to-morrow, 
when  I  am  beyond  your  reach, — when  you 
know  that  I  have  gone  forever !  For  I  won't 
come  back  after  this  :  I  will  never  come  back. 

Barbara,  think  of  it  all ! — think  of  our  beau- 
22 


254  THE  QUICK  OR  THE  DEAD? 

tiful  hours  together, — of  my  kisses, — of  the 
way  you  have  clung  to  me, — of  the  way  you 
have  kissed  my  hair,  my  eyes,  my  throat, — 
as  I  kiss  yours  now  1" 

He  almost  hurt  her  in  his  desperate  eager- 
ness, but  he  might  as  well  have  tried  to  rouse 
response  in  a  corpse.  She  lay  in  his  arms 
panting,  but  listless,  and  the  eyes  that  she 
lifted  to  him  were  full  of  a  certain  timid  plead- 
ing and  dwelt  upon  him  through  great  tears. 

"  I  try  to  feel  sorry,  and  I  only  feel  sorry 
because  I  am  not  really  sorry,"  she  said, 
tiredly.  "  I  know  you  are  going,  and  that  I 
loved  you,  and  I  try  so  hard  to  be  sorry ;  but 
I  can  only  think  how  nice  it  will  be  to  go  to 
bed  and  go  to  sleep.  I  am  so  tired !  I  don't 
think  I  will  ever  cry  again,  except  because  I 
can't  cry.  Oh,  it  all  sounds  so  silly!  but 
please  try  to  understand." 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  just  touching 
her  soft  hair  with  strong  but  trembling  fingers. 
"  Give  me  your  lips  this  once." 

She  lifted  her  mouth,  but  his  passionate 
kiss  left  her  parted  lips  as  piteously  expres- 
sionless as  ever.  "  I  can't  do  it !  I  can't  feel 
anything  !  I  try  so  hard  I" 


THE  QUICK  OR   THE  DEAD?  255 

He  knelt  suddenly  at  her  feet,  and  lifted 
hei  hands  to  his  thick  curls. 

"  Say,  '  God  be  with  you,  Jock/  "  he  whis- 
pered, stammering. 

She  said  it  very  sweetly,  in  a  clear,  earnest 
voice,  as  though  anxious  to  please  him  :  "  God 
be  with  you,  Jock." 

"  And  with  you,"  he  said,  giving  one  heavy 
sob. 

He  held  her  for  a  moment  tightly  about 
her  knees,  then  went,  closing  the  door  after 
him  with  careful  softness. 

As  he  left  the  room,  she  fell  once  more  to 
looking  for  the  lost  ring,  found  it  at  last  unT 
derneath  the  fender,  and,  blowing  the  ashes 
from  it,  slipped  it  upon  her  finger  as  Dering 
drove  from  the  door. 


THE    END. 


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AUTO.  DiSC. 


SEP  1 7  1986 


LD  21-100?»-12,'43(S796s) 


GENERAL  LIBRARY -U.C.BERKELEY 


6000^50332 


m252Q 


'-."v.- 


SITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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